


too cold to shiver

by the_cloud_whisperer



Series: Avatar Zuko [3]
Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Avatar Zuko, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Slow Burn, Waterbending & Waterbenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: Book 3 of the Avatar Zuko series sees the addition of the Water Tribe siblings to the Gaang, as well as an unexpected return to some of Zuko's old haunts. Every day of Zuko's waterbending and spiritual journey brings his destiny closer and clearer. After all, water is the element of change.





	1. The Seedy Merchants' Pier

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this book comes from ["Shiver"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aW5Ugq7eYo) by the Birthday Massacre.
> 
> According to my notes, Sokka is 16 and Katara is 15, so one year older than canon.

**KATARA**

Katara leans over the edge of the dock to see her reflection in the shallow water. The water ripples faintly, breaking her image; broken pieces wink back to her at random. Behind her, Sokka haggles with the girl selling him overpriced fish. His technique consists of him boasting about what a respected warrior he is in their hometown and how he'd regularly bring home leopard-whales from the hunt.

 _You're selling yourself short, Sokka,_ she thinks sarcastically. _You left out the fact that those leopard-whales were juveniles and hadn't sprouted their fangs yet. Also, that you trained many fearsome warriors back home and taught them to form ranks while they were still in diapers, in fact._

To Sokka's credit, the girl sounds a little impressed. After all, she doesn’t know anything about leopard-whales or their tiny village in the South Pole. They're a long way from home right now.

She thought it would be good to get away from the village, from the entire South Pole, maybe even find someone to teach her waterbending. At the least, she wants to get to know the world beyond glaciers and whale blubber. Exactly how much she doesn’t know is daunting, though.

"Ahoy, madam!" A rough drawl breaks her reverie. "I can tell from your clothes that you are a very worldly traveler! Perhaps I could interest you in some of the curios we have to sell?"

She looks up to meet a scrawny, shirtless vagabond-looking man with three gold earrings and four missing teeth. _A pirate? Ugh._ She starts to decline. Sokka, however, is more than happy to accept on her behalf.

"What are curios?" he asks as he tucks the fish (not as many as he'd haggled for, she thinks smugly) into his satchel.

The vagabond shrugs. "Dunno, but we've got 'em, so you should come and see 'em!"

~~~ 

"Sokka, this is a waste of time," Katara sighs as her brother flips through the curios. The musty ship is stacked floor to ceiling with chests and drawers of junk: creepy incense burners, musical instruments, rusty blades, questionably fashionable jewelry, and more.

"Hush, sis, there's got to be something of value here. You've got to leave it to an experienced buyer like me." He picks up an intricately folded paper flower, unfolds it, realizes he has no idea how to put it back together, and hastily stuffs it back into its cubby.

"I hate to break it to you, but being an experienced buyer requires money, for which you have to be an experienced worker, and we're not," she says under her breath. A grim-looking pirate with a broad black-and-sable hat and a green parrot stares at them from the till, clearly surmising their (lack of) buying potential. Another with flashy gold armbands and a wilting goatee sizes them up from the door.

"We've been trying to find work for weeks, but there just aren't any takers. No one wants to hire Water Tribe people this far from the Poles. They think we're trouble, that we're running from something."

"Gotta admit, we kind of are." Sokka picks his teeth with an impossibly sharp, thin switchblade.

"Yes, but not in the sense that we're, I don’t know, fugitives from the Fire Nation. Let's just make it a priority to find some jobs before we think about becoming experienced buyers, yes? Most of this stuff is useless, anyways."

"You sure about that?" From a dark recess, Sokka somehow has the eye to pick out a scroll with a blue emblem inscribed with waves, the same symbol that's on Katara's necklace. "This looks kind of handy." He unrolls it to reveal—

"A waterbending scroll!" Katara claps a hand over her mouth, but the pirates have already heard.

"Interested? That'll be two hundred gold coins. We're very lucky to offer such an _authentic_ text," the grim-looking one says smoothly. The parrot squawks as if in agreement.

"Lucky? You probably stole it from waterbenders in the first place!" she snaps.

"No, no, no, stealing is completely the wrong idea!" Goatee reassures her. "We thought we'd _help out_ the original owners by relieving them of a high-risk asset.”

“How dare you! That scroll belongs to the Water Tribe. It’s part of our culture, and you’re just hawking it off as…as _curios!”_

“Oh please, we were doing them a favor. If the Fire Nation knew they were waterbenders, they'd be in very hot water, you get my drift?"

"Absolutely," Sokka cuts in. He puts the scroll back. "Come on, Katara, let's go. We don’t need any of this stuff."

Still seething, she accompanies her brother out, the pirates' suspicious eyes following them all the while. It's so unfair. They've left their impoverished village to find better opportunities elsewhere, only to be left begging for scraps and odd jobs in the cheerless Earth Kingdom. As the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe, Katara supposed she'd find equally little opportunity to learn the lost art, until they discovered this scroll. But even that is denied her.

 _Maybe it's as much as I deserve._ They pass a woman with exhausted eyes hurrying in the opposite direction, nervously hustling her two children past the sketchy pirate ship. _If not for my waterbending, we wouldn’t have lost Mom. Without any training, I can't even control it. It’s more of a liability than an asset._

_Maybe Gran Gran’s right. Waterbending has only brought bad luck to our family. It’s not for me._

"Cheer up, Katara," Sokka says as they walk down the pier. On the sparsely populated dock, no one pays them any mind except possibly a boy around Sokka's age, sitting under an empty shop awning with a couple others. He's got a strange fashion sense: bald and sporting long blue arrow tattoos down his scalp and torso, but it's not a bad look. He turns to his companions as Sokka claims her attention again.

"Look what I got you. Surprise!" He pulls the waterbending scroll out from inside his shirt. "I switched it with another one while you were arguing with them."

 _No way._ She grabs it without a second thought, all gloomy reminiscences banished, but then that second thought catches up to her. "Sokka, you shouldn’t have. What if they find out?"

"Eh, let's cross that ice field when we get to it," he dismisses.

As it happens, they get to it immediately.

~~~ 

"Sokka, we've got to run!" Is he seriously thinking of facing an onslaught of armed pirates with nothing but his boomerang, club, and thick skull? They dash through the dockside and the village, heading inland. Hopefully if they get far enough, the pirates pursuing them will just give up and go back to their ship. On the outskirts of town, it seems like their luck will hold out.

"Phew," Sokka sighs as they reach the edges of the forest. He slumps against a tree by a clear pond. "No idea why they're so mad; we just relieved them of a high-risk asset."

"That was your idea, Sokka, one of your worse ideas in fact, and that's saying a lot!"

"Well, I just couldn’t bear the thought of you moping for the next week or so because you couldn’t have that scroll."

 _Oh, so it's my fault?_ She wants to rage, but the sound of the mob of pirates dashing towards them reroutes her priorities—not this now. "They've found us again!"

Frantically, Katara tries to recall some of the offensive moves she saw in her short glimpse of the waterbending scroll. Water whip, was it? She reaches for some water from the pond, yanks it up and snaps it up sharply into an oncoming pirate's face. It's clumsy and imprecise, but the unlucky man recoils and stumbles backwards blindly just as another gets knocked out by Sokka's boomerang.

"Neat!" Sokka yells, catching his boomerang. "But does your water come back to you every time you throw it at someone like my trusty boomerang does? Uh-huh, that's what I—ack!"

"Sokka!" He's gotten entangled in a net thrown by one of the pirates. Before she can act, another net comes flying towards her, trapping her in its confines and preventing her from bending.

"Now we'll have that scroll back." The pirate captain leers down at them unpleasantly. "And your hides to boot!"

"Uh, gentlemen, I don’t mean to interrupt any delicate business here." A new voice intercedes, someone who definitely means to interrupt. Katara twists in the net to see what's going on.

It's that boy from the dock. He steps into the pirates' midst with confidence, armed with only a staff, apparently uncaring of the fact that they've all got scimitars and swords and unscrupulous bloodlust. At his side, he holds a grumpy-looking girl by the collar. Oddly, she seems to be putting up a fight for the sake of it, dragging her feet and kicking at the ground but not actually trying to escape his hold. The last of their mismatched party follows, a boy with dual blades and a scarred face, by far the tensest among the three of them.

Their interruption continues. "My name is Yorru, and you have something I've been looking for: these two escaped criminals!" He points at Sokka and Katara. "They're on the run from the Water Tribe for malfeasance in elected office. Very severe crime, if I may say so."

"What?! Firstly, we're not criminals!" Sokka exclaims, infuriated. "Second, what even is malfeasance? Third, the Water Tribe doesn’t have elected office positions."

"My partner and I have been pursuing them fruitlessly for weeks," Yorru continues over him. "It was a stroke of fortune that you managed to capture them for us. As a token of our appreciation, we'd like to offer recompense in the form of a bounty. This ragamuffin here," he shakes the grumpy girl firmly, "is in fact a wanted criminal as well! Her name is Toph Beifong, but you may know her as The Runaway. She’s the ruthless perpetrator of multiple fraudulent schemes using her uncanny earthbending abilities. There's a thousand gold pieces for her head, and I'm handing her right to you."

"A thousand gold pieces!" The pirates murmur in astonishment and greed, and not without good reason. It seems too good to be true. Why is Yorru giving up this opportunity to strike it rich for the sake of two broke Water Tribe kids? Is he just after the scroll? But if he is, he could just buy it with the bounty money. Something's not adding up here. As they deliberate, he catches her eye and gives her a bright wink before turning back to the pirates.

"Well? What's your answer?"

"Your offer is tempting, but we want to see the evidence before we make a deal," the captain says warily, stroking his chin and peering down at Yorru with a suspicious look. "How do we know she's the real thing?"

"Of course, very astute of you! Lee, the poster?" he asks of his silent, sword-wielding companion who may or may not even be on board with this scheme, judging from his dour affect. "Lee?"

His partner heaves a burdened sigh before responding, "Sorry. I burned it."

"Shit."

~~~ 

**SOKKA**

Okay, so this isn't how he'd pictured things would go when he lifted that nice waterbending scroll for his baby sister. This is why they can't have nice things. The rescue attempt is a thoughtful gesture, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Pirates may be gullible, simple-minded folk, but not even they will believe that this barefoot slip of a girl with a _bright green fluffy headband_ is a wanted criminal. The bald guy in tattoos and some kind of off-the-shoulder priest robes seems to be realizing this too as his partner confirms that they have no evidence to back them up.

"No proof, no deal," the pirate captain repeats with more force. The hulking bird of prey on his shoulder squawks viciously, and his entire posse is looking a lot more menacing now that it seems they're being ripped off.

 _Plan B, plan B,_ he thinks desperately. _Katara's the magic and waterbending one, so that makes me the boomerang and plans guy. Toph is the innocent-looking one who always gets used as bait. Yorru is the well-meaning but bumbling visionary who tries to act cool but fails._

Hm, what about Lee, aka Quiet Sword Guy? He's hard to put a finger on. Sokka cranes his head to look through the net restraining him, hoping to clue in to something that will help them, and unexpectedly, he does.

"Hey, aren't you the Avatar?" he pipes up. "I swear I've seen a picture of you just last week. I'd recognize that frown anywhere."

There _was_ a poster at the last village they were in, advertising the treason of the Avatar against the Fire Nation and showing a scarred face frowning with grim onus. His name wasn't Lee, though. Katara had been skeptical, insisting it must just be a ruse to catch unscrupulous bounty hunters and that the Avatar had no reason to betray his own nation.

The Avatar, if indeed it is him, looks startled to be called out thus, but it could be the opportunity they need. _Great timing, Sokka._

"Oh, yeah! Didn’t you know? Zuko here is the Avatar, which is definitely worth more than a thousand gold pieces to the Fire Lord." The Runaway plays along a little too easily for someone who was just on the verge of being handed over to pirates. "Zuko, won't you demonstrate your criminally amazing Avatar powers so we can rescue these Water Tribe kids?"

He scowls and steps forward, deeply exasperated about being exposed as the Avatar. Sokka gets the idea that it's probably not the first time his loudmouth companions have done this.

"Yes, I am the Avatar. You will all…reap my fire," he says tonelessly, before using his swords to direct a giant circle of flame that surrounds the pirates.

 _Ah, now we're getting somewhere._ The pirates flap frantically amid the rising flames, and taking advantage of their distraction, Yorru summons two torrents of air out of nowhere, which he directs at Sokka and Katara. The air pushes the nets away from their bodies long enough for them to crawl free—convenient.

_Wait, how is that even possible? He's airbending…?_

Sokka decides to suspend all further disbelief for the day and just accept whatever magic and insanity the world has in store for him next as an actual flying bison swoops down on them from heaven. One of the pirates has other ideas, though, and the only warning they get is the twang of a crossbow and the whistle of an arrow as they make for the open skies.

"Katara!" He flings himself across to push her out of harm's way, nearly knocking her off the bison's back in the process, but she's safe, thank goodness. He doesn’t know what he'd do if she were to come to harm.

She gasps in shock, and for a moment he thinks it's just the near-death experience talking, but then he follows her eyes over the edge and, "Holy shit, is that Yorru flying?!"

"His name is actually Aang, but yes, he is flying. Gliding, to be more precise," Zuko says, sounding disapproving.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t realize we'd had time to get around to introductions yet."

"And it looks like he's gone to retrieve something you dropped," Zuko addresses Katara. Sokka stares, trying to figure out what he means, but then Aang vaults up back to them on a glider staff, free of the pirates' wrath, and he's carrying—

"My necklace!" Katara gasps, fingers flying to her throat as she just noticed it was missing.

"I can't believe you just did a nosedive to catch a necklace." Zuko raises a skeptical eyebrow at the airbender.

"Don’t judge, Zuko. Remember how sad you were when I made you take off your Fire Prince-hairpin-crown-thing? I know you still have it, by the way."

"Yes, because you went through my things."

"I told him to do that," Toph breaks in. Neither she nor Aang look the slightest bit remorseful for what Sokka would consider a capital offense if it were done to him.

Aang seems to remember he's still holding Katara's necklace. "Oh, here." But instead of handing it to her, he offers it to Sokka.

"Huh?" Sokka says intelligently.

"For your fiancée. I'm from the south, I know a little about Water Tribe customs," Aang says earnestly. "It's bad manners for anyone but the betrothed to handle this necklace, right?"

"Um…" He looks to Katara for help. She actually giggles, a bright sound that Sokka hasn’t heard in weeks.

"You're right about the custom, but we're not actually engaged. Sokka here is my brother," she explains. She holds her hand out for the necklace, which Aang relinquishes, looking mortified. "Still, thank you so much for getting it back for me. It was my mother's, and it's all I have left of her."

"See, this is why we should have done introductions first," Sokka feels the need to remind everyone.

"Yes, that definitely should have taken priority over rescuing you from angry pirates," Toph says.

"Okay, big brother, I'll do the honors," Katara offers, still smiling fondly at Aang. "I'm Katara, the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe, and he's Sokka, Hunter of Baby Leopard-whales and detective extraordinaire when it comes to solving cases like the missing seal jerky."

"I'm Aang, this is Toph, and that standoffish guy who's just ignoring us," Aang gestures to the back of Zuko's head, "is Zuko, the Avatar."

"I'm not ignoring you, I'm just making sure we're going in the right direction and putting as much distance as possible between us and those pirates," Zuko says without turning around. He pulls on the reins attached to the horns of their giant steed ("Oh right, this is Appa, my flying bison," Aang adds), and they ascend farther still into the sky, going who knows where.

Sokka's not worried, though. He has a feeling that things are looking up for them now. It's just instinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Notes on the Avatar Zuko series continues with [ this installment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/23105493). Read for explanations of what I'm doing with Katara's character.


	2. Be the Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painful retelling of the downfall of the North and the South.

**SOKKA**

They continue flying indefinitely northwest, even though Sokka rather thinks they've left the pirates far enough behind. Flying bison beats pirate ship, after all. At some point, Aang takes over steering from Zuko.

"So, you guys are from the South Pole, huh? What are you doing so far from home?" Zuko asks the obvious question.

It occurs to Sokka that he and Katara should come up with some epic badass tale about why they're wandering the world aimlessly. Like, they're on a quest to retrieve the legendary Pearl of the North Sea, or they're trying to rescue the exiled prince of wherever. Or he could introduce _himself_ as the exiled prince. Dad's chief of the tribe, so that makes him a prince of sorts, albeit of a very small fiefdom.

Katara prefers to tell it like it is, though. "We wanted to see what the rest of the world is like before the Fire Nation destroys it all."

There is no mistaking the way she directs this at Zuko.

"Uh… yeah. That's… understandable," he hazards in return. Katara's death glare really is rather piercing. Sokka's had fifteen years to develop immunity to it, but Zuko looks like he's being stabbed by a herd of sea urchins. "I mean, hopefully it won't come to that? Our plan is to prevent that from happening."

"Hopefully?" Katara echoes, voice rising through the word in disbelief. Sokka can hear where her indignation stems from. 'Hopefully' is what you say when you hope the blizzard won't be too bad tomorrow, or you hope Gran Gran doesn’t make stewed leopard-seal gallbladder for dinner again. To hope that the Fire Nation _isn't_ going to do what they do best and set fire to the world is too much.

But it won't do to alienate the Avatar, who so far doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any pyromaniac tendencies—he can at least be spared the benefit of the doubt. "Well, what's your plan, then?" Sokka asks to defuse the situation somewhat.

"So far, the plan is for Zuko to learn all the elements so he can become the fully-realized Avatar," Toph answers. " _Technically_ , he's mastered earthbending in the sense that he could probably defeat most masters of the element in a fair fight."

"Most?" Zuko asks, looking surprised at this assessment. Possibly he thought he was invincible?

"Most, except for me."

"Ah."

"So, waterbending is the next order of business," Toph says a little impatiently. "Being from the Water Tribe and all, you wouldn’t happen to know any extremely accomplished waterbenders, _would you?"_

" _Oh_ , I see how it is. You rescued us from the pirates because you needed someone to teach you waterbending," Sokka realizes. That explains a lot.

"Uh, no, that's not the only reason—" Zuko starts to hedge, but Toph cuts him off with a cheerful, "Yep, pretty much."

"Sorry to break this to you," Katara says caustically, "but if you want to master waterbending, I can't help you. I can barely control the element myself. All the moves I've used were either made up myself or cobbled together from here." She holds up the scroll. "You’re wasting your time with me. It would be like the blind leading the blind."

"Well, excuse you." Toph waves a belligerent hand in front of her unseeing eyes.

"Sorry." Katara looks a little chastised, but not enough to douse her anger. "I mean it, though. You'll have to find someone else."

"Who?" Zuko asks—demands, really. "If not you, then who else? Beggars can't be choosers. I'll make do."

Sokka wouldn’t consider himself a master of conversational tact, but Zuko has really outdone him here. He looks around, wondering if by any chance Appa comes equipped with a safety raft so he can eject himself from the saddle and escape the blubber-thick silence that’s descended upon the group. It positively _smothers_.

Thankfully, Aang's strained voice from up front informs them that he's sighted an island where they can land.

~~~

**KATARA**

The island, though huge, appears uninhabited; most of it is heavily forested, while the coast is covered in sheer cliff faces and unforgiving rocky beaches. It seems that not even a pirate ship would care to moor here for any period of time, so maybe they'll be safe.

Aang seems mostly preoccupied with the history of the island rather than its defensibility. "This place is called Laghima's Island, after the mythical Guru Laghima," he expounds to her, his captive audience, having dragged her off away from the others under pretext of finding fresh water, but really to go on an Air Nomad pilgrimage. "He famously spent the last forty years of his life meditating while floating ten feet off the ground."

Katara follows the didactic airbender up a rocky outcrop splotched with moss but otherwise bare. The naked rock gives way to trees draped with autumn's bronze leaves, and it is rather pleasant to walk beneath them. Who knows why Laghima had felt so repelled by the ground that he resorted to avoiding it for so much of his life? Whatever his reasons, surely he had to come down once in a while to eat and drink something, maybe even enjoy an evening stroll through the woods…or not.

 Aang, probably inspired by the late guru, bounds up and alights on a branch far above her head. He pats the bough beside him. "Join me?"

She laughs nervously. "I don’t think—"

Whatever she was going to think, Aang clearly doesn’t agree as he pulls together a current of air that lifts her gently onto the branch next to him.

"'Be the leaf', I was told growing up," he says. "I didn’t understand at first, so I spent a lot of time up in the trees where the leaves were, trying to figure it out."

The thought of a younger Aang roosting bird-like in a tree is quite amusing. "Did you succeed?"

"I rather think I did, if only because the first few times, I got stuck in the tree and couldn’t come down." He plucks a cracked and drying leaf and spins it by the stem between his fingers. "Say the tree represents the world and the leaves are all the people, every one of them more or less the same. With time, they cast off their connection to the tree, sever all bonds with the life they used to know, and float freely on the wind until they come to rest."

He lets go of the leaf in demonstration, and it twirls erratically in the breeze, drifting towards the ground.

"I think you know what I mean. If you didn’t, you'd still be in the South Pole."

He's not wrong. Traditionally, the tribes have always been very close-knit, never venturing far from the poles without good reason. To say that the village hadn't been approving when she and Sokka left would be an understatement.

"Why did you think Sokka and I were betrothed?"

"Ah." He ducks his head in embarrassment. "You could say I was projecting? I've been thinking about my mother recently, and how she spent all these years raising me without my father and the rest of our people. They were… deeply in love, but I don’t think I realized quite how much until shortly before I left to travel with Zuko."

A twinge of sympathy stirs in her heart, then a familiar ugly spite rears its head. The Fire Nation took more from Aang than it did from her, even, and yet…

"Leaves bud green in the spring, but the fiery summer sun desiccates them. By autumn, they fade completely to red."

"Yes, I _know_ that, even though there weren't many trees back home." 

"Zuko is one of these leaves." His eyes, downcast and shying away from hers, betray sadness underneath his placating smile. Aang picks another leaf, dangling it between two fingers like a throwing knife. "You read his wanted poster, so you know he grew up a little too close to the sun and got scorched. But that had to happen so that he could change his colors and leave his tree. I wouldn’t have left mine to follow him otherwise."

Katara remains silent. Aang means well, anyone can see that, and she thinks she knows where he's going with this, but whether or not she wants him to continue… that's something else.

"I think it might have been fate, that we met like this. We—Toph, Zuko, and I—have been traveling together for months, and we've never met any waterbenders."

"What do you expect from me?" Katara keeps herself from exploding, but it's a close thing. "I'm not fit to teach the Avatar. Fate has an awful sense of humor, if indeed it meant for us to meet. I've got nothing, nothing to offer you."

"Wrong," Aang corrects her crisply. "You have a waterbending scroll. You have an immense amount of raw though untrained talent, from what I saw with the pirates. You have determination and resolution, and most importantly, you have people who care about you. So I wouldn’t say you have nothing."

Katara looks down at the ground, past where her feet dangle helplessly in midair as if treading water. If she could bend, she'd never have to worry about drowning. Water would be like her second home. It should have been her first.

Somewhere between the day her mother died and the day she left the South Pole, she'd stopped thinking of waterbending as her birthright. But maybe, just maybe… she can reclaim it.

~~~ 

**AANG**

He watches her go, frowning slightly. That was unexpectedly draining, but there are words that had to be said. The young shadows swallow her figure, but he remembers that he's not alone.

"Zuko?"

A petulant sigh issues from behind the tree opposite Aang, and Zuko steps into view, not at all surprised at being caught out.

"Did you hear all of that?" He'd only begun to suspect the other's presence about halfway through.

"I heard enough," Zuko says, sounding disappointed that 'enough' wasn’t enough to sway Katara. "I appreciate your efforts on my behalf."

"Then why the long face? I said such sweet things about you."

He breaks into a reluctant smile. "I seem to recall you called me a desecrated leaf."

Aang gasps in dramatic play-fury, throwing himself backwards so that he's hanging onto the branch with only his legs. "I did not! Who taught you to twist my words so?" he exclaims with as much mock offense as he can while blood rushes to his face.

"Mm, desiccated, desecrated, one implies the other," Zuko says carelessly. "My father wouldn’t split hairs about what he did." He approaches Aang's perch until he's standing nearly under him, their eyes level. Reaching up, he cradles the back of Aang's head in one hand, and with the other, smoothes over the long line of his throat.

The bruises have faded until they're hardly noticeable to anyone except Zuko, who knows to look for them. He summons a little heat to his fingers, not with the intent of firebending, but just to ward off the evening chill. Aang lets him, closing his eyes and relaxing his torso and neck.

"I should tell you: the Fire Nation navy is tracking us still," he murmurs, his throat swelling with air beneath Zuko's hands. Somewhere above them, a bird chitters as it returns to its nest. "I didn’t want to alarm the others while we were flying, but I saw a fleet of battleships on the horizon behind us. They were still there when I last looked at sunset. I'm guessing it's Zhao. He's still angry about us escaping right from under his nose."

"Yes, I think he might be." Zuko doesn’t pause the hypnotic trace of his fingers, up and down. "How many and how long?"

"Um, I didn’t count, but most definitely a lethal number. They might be within hailing distance by dawn, or not until midday tomorrow. I know, my nautical estimation skills could use work. In any case, we've been flying so much lately that Appa's too tired to outrun them tonight."

"I've never actually seen Appa run."

For some reason, the dark of the forest settling around them makes it incredibly easy, even light-hearted, to banter about the grim prospects approaching them.

"If you'll stop imitating a bat and come down from there," Zuko finally says, letting go, "perhaps we can go back to the others and put something together going forward. Ultimately, it’s up to Katara, but I should… apologize and try to make good."

Aang slips down, regaining his feet with a light flurry of leaves. "I'll keep watch tonight in case Zhao really does grace us with his imperial presence."

"No, you go to sleep," Zuko says firmly. "I'll keep an eye out for him. We'll figure things out in the morning."

~~~

**KATARA**

She picks up the scroll and heads resolutely down the craggy cliff path to the ocean. Doubt gnaws at her mind like a snow-rat, but she brushes it aside. She'll make the Avatar beg for her tutelage; none of this humiliating settling-for-less. It won't be easy, but that's what they said about leaving home and journeying through unknown lands, too.

She reaches the shore and breathes in deeply. There's a full moon tonight, and it seems to energize her, makes her feel the vibrance of the waves and the foam as they crash on the beach. She puts the scroll down on a rock and prepares to bend, going through the movements for practice. It feels natural, pushing and pulling, as if in a dance that she knows without having been taught. She pulls up a thin strand of water and begins to shape it gently, but then—

"Testing the water, are we?"

She lets the water drop and stumbles around in surprise. Zuko sits with his back to a boulder looming nearby, hunched over his knees and shrouded in shadow that hid him from her eyes at first. He makes no move to approach her, and she recovers quickly.

"What are you doing here?" It's a reflexive accusation; he was here first, after all. Then she realizes what he actually said. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

He cracks an unconvincing smile, any humor barely registering in his hooded eyes. "I thought I'd try to break the ice a bit. I know we haven't gotten off to a great start."

"Oh, really, Zuko? I couldn’t have guessed. I thought we were the best of friends." Katara wants to return to the task at hand, but now that he's here, how is she supposed to focus on her bending? Her gaze falls to something he's holding in his lap, some kind of grotesque mask. "What's that?"

He raises it so that she can see its bulbous eyes and demonic grin. "The Blue Spirit. It’s a legendary evil water spirit who feasts on the hearts of the upright or something like that. My sister and I used to act the story out, and I always got landed with this lot."

Katara tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. Typical of the Fire Nation, to demonize the very people it's oppressing.

"Don’t tell me you and Sokka didn’t make up play-acting scripts where one of you had to be the evil Fire Lord and the other got to be the brave Water Tribe warrior who fought off the invaders?"

His words are a little mocking, but she sits down a safe distance away and sees the wistful nostalgia in his eyes at the memory of him and some faceless sister in an untroubled childhood.

"Honestly, we didn’t have a lot of time for play," she tells him bluntly. "Mom was killed in a Fire Nation raid when I was eight. Dad left with the other warriors to fight a few years later. Our Gran Gran raised us, but Sokka and I learned to be self-sufficient early on."

She shivers a little, partly from the midnight air and partly from self-consciousness at revealing this much to someone who has no way to empathize with her.

Wordlessly, Zuko reaches behind him, casts around in the scattered driftwood for a bough, and lights the rotting wood aflame with ease. Katara can't suppress a recoil, but Zuko ignores this, instead stacking more twigs on the growing pyre between them, manipulating the flame with practiced twists of his wrist like he's charming warmth and energy right out of thin air.

She watches the fountain of flame grow under his calm command and feels a roil of envy in her core. If only she were as confident with her native element.

"I was there, when my mother died," she says unexpectedly. "During the raid, a soldier came to our house, looking for our father, the chief. He was out fighting. I hid behind some furs in the corner. My mother defied him and was struck down before my eyes."

Zuko says nothing but just watches her over the fire, his gaze even, his eyes not so much.

"That's not all, though." He must know this, because he doesn’t try to interject, which is more than can be said for most people hearing her sad story.

"He was looking for the last waterbender. They both knew there was one remaining, but only my mother knew who it was."

She clenches her hands in her lap, hears a slight intake of breath from Zuko when he realizes what she means.

"She lied to protect me. She knew I was there, she could have given me up and lived, but she didn’t. The man left thinking he'd killed the last waterbender in the South Pole."

In the bright crackle of flames before his face, Zuko looks almost half asleep.

"I dreamed of that man for months afterwards. I never wanted to forget the face of the enemy. I used to long for the day when I could leave home and track him down. Life got in the way of my childish dreams, though." She shakes her head a little self-deprecatingly. "I forgot his face over time. I forgot what the Fire Nation looked like."

"Well, lucky for you, you've got a little reminder here. As the Fire Lord's son, it doesn’t get more fiery than this." He points languidly to his own scarred face.

His sardonic delivery actually startles a short burst of laughter out of her. "I didn’t think of you as the enemy at first, before Sokka recognized you," she admits. "Your scar made me think you were an enemy of the Fire Nation."

"I _am_ an enemy of the Fire Nation," he deadpans.

"You know what I mean. It made you sympathetic, until, well…"

"Until I started firebending."

"Well, yes." She looks away awkwardly, shifts her weight off her haunches to sit more comfortably.

"Is this any better?"

He's got the Blue Spirit mask raised to his face. She smiles back at it.

"You know, maybe you've got the right idea. For a long time, I was afraid to try and further my bending. I was afraid the Fire Nation would come back for me. But then, how better to fight them than with the very weapon that made them want to erase me? I wanted to learn, but at the same time, I didn’t dare."

She sighs. In spite of telling Zuko these things, things that she hasn't even revealed to her own brother, she's making less sense than ever. As they've sat here talking, the moon has walked in the sky, and its light lances down on the rock behind Zuko, brightening his face a little.

"My bending always feels stronger at night and when the moon's full," she remarks, off-topic. "I don’t know why. Well, it's nothing to brag about in the first place, but I've always wondered why."

Zuko seems to have no response, and Katara bites back a disappointed sigh. She doesn’t want his pity, it's true, but at least some answers would have been nice. All the same—she barely qualifies as a waterbender, and as such she's of no use to the fledgling Avatar. She can hardly expect anything from him.

"I'm going to find you a waterbending teacher, Katara," he says suddenly. "You're going to become a master, and then I'll help you find your enemy, and you can do to him as you see fit."

She stares, agape, at his declaration. "But why would you do that for me? And _how_?"

He stands. "I'm the Avatar. Apparently I'm supposed to bring balance to the world. A life for a life, I think that's fair. As for how…"

He starts walking towards the ocean, and Katara doesn’t make the decision to follow him, just gets up and goes. He pauses just before the water touches his bare feet and looks back.

"I'm going to ask the moon spirit."

~~~

**ZUKO**

He's acutely aware of Katara's surprised gaze following him down to the water, and some lower instinctual part of him wonders if it's really a good idea to give her sole responsibility for watching over his body.

She doesn’t hate him. That much is clear, now that they've talked. She wants to hate him because he's the de facto representative of the Fire Nation in their little group. But the Avatar is of all four nations.

_Give her a reason to believe that._

At the edge of the surf, where the waves rise higher and higher with each passing minute, he can see the moon's silvery reflection on the water, but it still feels too far away. He wades out into the water until it's waist-high around him, arms just skimming the surface as he presses his hands together in meditation.

If there is a sun spirit, there stands to reason that there is also a moon spirit, and it must have some influence over the power of waterbenders like Katara. It might be able to give him some pointers. He closes his eyes and concentrates.

"It's been a while, Avatar, but it gladdens me to see you again."

In the spirit plane, the ethereal specter of a young woman hovers above the water before him. She looks like a princess ascended to the spirit realm, emitting an unearthly glow from her long robes and flowing white hair.

"I'm sorry, do I…did I know you?" Zuko stammers.

"Two lifetimes ago, as Avatar Kuruk, you did. I will say that you are just as fair of face now as you were then."

Is the moon spirit flirting with him? Zuko would be blushing if he were corporeal right now—he's flattered, but how is he going to let her down gently? _Sorry, women aren't really my area, not even beautiful moon ladies. — The long-distance aspect doesn’t work for me; it's just too far from the human world to the spirit world. — I may or may not have a thing with a very human airbender; we haven't exactly talked about that either…_

She spares him from any embarrassing confessions. "What do you seek from the moon spirit, Avatar Zuko?"

"I'm looking for a teacher to help me master waterbending."

"Waterbenders are nearly lost to death's grip in today's world," the moon spirit laments. "Do you know why this is?"

"Because the Fire Nation wiped them out." Zuko is all too familiar with this line of questioning. It usually results in people rudely ending the conversation and leaving him alone with his guilt.

The moon spirit does not do anything of the sort. "That is not the sole reason. No, it was because Avatar Kuruk was betrayed by his own heart. I was there fifty years ago. I saw what was happening but was helpless to stop it.

"Kuruk had just finished his training in airbending at the Northern Air Temple and was preparing to return home when he met a woman of the Fire Nation named Naoki. Much as you now seek to master waterbending, he had yet to learn firebending. Naoki was a skilled bender and agreed to teach him.

"At a time when their two nations were already at war, this was an act of highest treason. So Kuruk brought Naoki back to the North Pole and trained with her in secret. And as these things happen, he fell in love with her.

"With the chief's blessing, he arranged to marry her in the spirit oasis at the center of the North Pole. It is the most sacred place on earth to waterbenders, housing the original moon and ocean spirits, Tui and La, and yet he elected to bring the firebender there and wed her. I suppose he had his reasons. She was beautiful; she was selfless; she was also a Fire Nation spy."

Zuko knows the next part because it was glorified in Fire Nation textbooks as the conquest of Admiral Zhao and the fall of the North. Naoki had never been mentioned, though.

"She signaled the Fire Nation navy to attack, and just as the ceremony commenced, she killed Tui, the moon spirit, crippling every waterbender in the North Pole. The resulting battle was more akin to slaughter. Avatar Kuruk rushed to defend his people, but with only the elements of air and fire at his command, he was defeated, and the tribe fell with him. Naoki was dragged into the spirit world by La, and her face was taken by Koh the Face-Stealer, a malignant spirit."

"Hold on, her face was taken?" Zuko asks in horror, unsure if he wants to know the specifics or not.

"A fate worse than death, but no more than she deserved," the moon spirit dismisses coldly.

"So the moon spirit died." He tries to make sense of this terrible saga. "But then, how are you here?"

"As a mortal, I was Princess Yue of the Northern Water Tribe. I was born with no air in my lungs. To save me, my father prayed to the moon spirit, who listened and granted me life. I was present at the wedding ceremony when Tui was murdered. As princess, I made the choice to serve my people and gave my life back to Tui. The moon rose again, but it was too late for our tribe.

"After the death of its twin, the ocean spirit sealed the oasis against all humans. My mortal form is still there, along with La's. Some say that it can be opened by the most powerful waterbenders, but none now exist who may attempt it."

The tale ends here, it seems. "Is there no hope, then?" Zuko asks.

"Hope is to be found in unexpected places. Under my light, there is one waterbender strong enough to help you."

"Where?" He'd go all the way to the poles, to the ends of the earth, to find someone to teach Katara and him both.

"She lives in the southeast corner of a small island in the eastern Fire Nation. She has passed many years there in exile, and adversity has given her strength. You will not find a better teacher on this earth."

The Fire Nation… so he must return to the land that spit him out so unkindly. "Why did you tell me all this? About Kuruk and Naoki?"

"All who witnessed this story unfold are now dead," Yue says. "Someone among the living should remember it to help man remember his mistakes."

The bitterness in her words gives Zuko pause for a sobering thought. "You were jealous of Naoki. You were in love with Kuruk."

She sighs. "At least, you are brighter than he was. Guard your heart, Avatar Zuko. Believe me when I say that those you love may not be true to you."

 _Aang would never betray me,_ he thinks to say, but then she might think he doesn’t believe her.

"There are many ways to love," Yue counsels. "It only takes one to undo you."

He wonders if she was this opaque in her mortal life, or if this is just a spirit thing.

"A great peril awaits you when you return to the human world." A vision of menacing warships approaching the island projects itself on the water before him. Zhao must have arrived. "I can help you, but you must be ready."

He thinks of Aang at Pohuai, body broken but spirit as hale as ever. He thinks of Katara, who resembles no one more than himself when he was younger and jealous of Azula's prodigious talent. He thinks of Naoki and Zhao, the legacy of the man who laid low the Water Tribes. He has much to atone for, none of them his transgressions, but all the same—he will erase them.

"I'm ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about how I chose to rewrite Avatar history [ here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/23881344/)!


	3. The Last Scion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remnants of the Northern and Southern Water Tribes have their revenge, albeit in very different ways. Katara unwittingly becomes their legacy as Team Avatar travels to the Fire Nation in search of a waterbending teacher. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Azula applies herself to refining her firebending technique, only to find that this requires making some sacrifices.

**AANG**

The sea tonight is calm and unbroken, its quiet waves barely stirring the surface, not at all like that tempestuous night of storms when he pulled Zuko from the unmoved ocean. Some things do not change, though. For example, Zuko is still in deep water and once again in imminent, life-threatening danger. 

"Let me get this right: a homicidal firebender with seven battleships of doom is on his way here now to kill us, but we have to stay put until he arrives like sitting turtleducks?" Sokka clarifies hysterically. 

Katara remains a little more level-headed. "Aang, why can't we just take Zuko and escape on Appa? There's no way we can face this Commander Zhao." 

Aang takes his glider staff in hand and tamps down the sand beneath his feet before letting his gaze sweep the sea once more. Zhao is less than a mile away. The smoke from his fleet curls eerily under the moonlight like fog. 

Zuko's body, immobile in the water, is the only thing tying him to this plane. If they move him, will his spirit be able to return? Never having meditated to the spirit world himself, he feels a flutter of worry at the idea of Zuko's spirit possibly being trapped there forever. 

Suddenly the moon above them glows dazzlingly bright, its rays transcending the vast, uncrossable sky between them and casting a spotlight on the place where Zuko stands… stood. He is there no longer. 

Instead, an ephemeral figure rises from the sea on a tall column of water. Her hair, long and white, blossoms like a fountain of spiritual energy around her as the water conducts her skywards. Her eyes glow with the energy of the Avatar state. As she moves, the waves beneath her swell, and the once-calm sea turns rabid and foamy before her. 

"Who's that? Where's Zuko?" Sokka asks in bewilderment. 

"Is he doing it again?" Toph remains fantastically unperturbed. "That thing where he shape shifts into something he's not? Once he turned into a tree." 

"I think she's the moon spirit," Katara intones reverently. "The source of all waterbenders' power." 

"Definitely not a tree," Sokka feels the need to add. 

The moon spirit gazes down at them, Zhao's fleet in the distance a grim backdrop to her argent gleam. From the towering spout of water that carries her, a single light-drenched tendril extends itself towards Katara, who reaches out a shaking hand to touch it, trance-like. Immediately, the water encases her whole body, lifting her from the shore and into the water to ride the crest of a rising wave, some twenty feet above their heads. 

The moon spirit speaks, and in her voice are amplified the voices of millennia: an amalgamation of hundreds, all the Avatars, past and present. 

"You are the scion of the Northern and Southern Water Tribes," she addresses Katara. "Accept your power and take pride in it. Come!" 

Somehow, her power enables Katara to emulate her, bending her way with ease over the dark, roiling water, something like the way Zuko-as-Senlin was able to traverse the earth with earthbending. Aang doesn’t stop to ponder it but twirls his glider open to follow them across the bay towards the approaching battle fleet. 

"Oh, and what am I, chopped otter-penguin testicles?" Sokka calls after them. 

"Don't be crass, Sokka," Toph says calmly. "Just enjoy the show." 

AAA 

Zhao sees them coming and prepares his attack summarily. Aang weaves and dodges between bursts of fire threatening to cast him from the sky, changing directions as fleetingly as the wind, aware of how defenseless he is, trapped in between the raging firefight and the maw of the ocean. 

He looks for Katara, a blur amongst the waves. Can she really hold up in this environment with her elementary bending? Amazingly, the power lent to her by the moon spirit seems to have bolstered her capacity by leaps and bounds. Sailing astride a colossal water spout, she knocks aside the Fire Navy's volleys with determined swipes of seawater, matching every move of the vengeful moon spirit. 

"Aim for the woman with white hair!" Aang hears Zhao command over the harsh conversation of crashing waves and cannons. "I will end both the Avatar and the moon spirit tonight if it is the last thing I do!" 

"Sir, the tides are too strong, we're getting swept out to sea!" one of his crew shouts, and it's true. Under the moon spirit's fury, the ships are unable to resist the push of the ocean and every moment teeter closer and closer to capsizing. 

"Do the tides command this ship?" 

"They do." 

It is the moon spirit who says these words, but Aang catches a glimpse of Zhao's expression through the salt spray, and he does not look surprised to be addressed so familiarly by the moon spirit. 

"No longer will you lay waste to the remnants of my people, Zhao. Your father's dream to rid the world of waterbenders ends with you." 

Under her upraised arms, the waves rise to disastrous heights, overshadowing the entire ship. Aang seizes the chance to fly clear of the devastation, rising skywards as the waves crash down on the fleet, sweeping everyone overboard. The moon spirit does not stop at that but stokes the waves ever higher, pushing the ships even farther out to sea, battering their hulls against each other, toppling masts, overturning cannons, and finally leaving the Fire Navy's most elite fleet in pieces, sunken in the middle of the ocean. 

~~~ 

 **KATARA**  

The moon spirit seems diminished now, her glow fading, and as a cloud passes high above, the tidal wave she's riding collapses back into the sea. The bright shimmer of her presence departs, leaving in her place Zuko, who's quite himself again and also quite unconscious. Hardly aware of her own actions, Katara launches herself across the water between them and gathers his sinking body in her arms before he is lost to the ocean's depths. 

"Katara!" 

It's Aang, sailing the sky high above them. He swoops down closer, skimming the water beside them, worry painted in his wide eyes and frantic voice. 

"It's okay," she calls back. "I've got Zuko. We're okay." 

She tries not to be unnerved by the fact that she's treading water, completely unsupported, out in the fathomless sea with Zuko unresponsive beside her. The moon spirit gave her a taste of the power that she commands, if she can only quash the self-doubt rising in her. She has never felt like this before: it's as if every pulse of blood in her veins is in sync with the currents of the ocean, as if she is one with the water. She actually feels like the scion of the water tribes, though she isn't sure exactly what the moon spirit had meant by that. The water around her laps softly, benignly, as if claiming her as its own. It is _her_ element, which she had only been able to access thanks to her connection to the moon spirit and to the Avatar. 

With one arm supporting Zuko and one arm pulling up a current to propel them forwards, just as she had seen the moon spirit doing, she cuts an unyielding path through the water. They reach the shore even as the pre-dawn fog masks the setting moon. Katara hurries to drag him up the beach as Aang alights nearby. 

The night is over. 

~~~ 

 **AZULA**  

"The key to controlling your firebending is to control your emotions," her father tells her. "Happiness, sadness, anger, fear: all of these must be kept locked away. They are mere distractions that warp your cool logic. The colder your emotions are, the hotter your fire burns." 

He has straw targets set up for her like the ones children use when they first start to bend. They occupy the same metal bunker where she unsuccessfully tried to learn earthbending. She supposes he doesn’t want it to go to waste. 

Azula goes through the routines he sets for her with practiced ease; they are more challenging than Zhao's scope of expertise, but she still manages to hit almost all the targets, even those across the room. However, it's not good enough. Every time, Ozai shakes his head; there's always something not quite perfect about her performance. 

"Hit the eye of your target precisely, and nothing else. In a life-or-death situation, you may have only one shot, and you cannot throw it away. Anything short of perfect is failure." 

Azula is not used to this side of him: calm and frigid, never raising his voice. Of late, he's been nothing but enraged, ranging from simmering in disapproval to boiling over with fury. Perhaps he is resolved to teach her to 'do as I do', like a true master. She goes through the forms again, ending with an ingenious aerial twist and knocking out multiple targets at once, but still, he frowns in disapproval. 

"Consider visualizing your emotions as tangible objects and locking them away," he suggests disdainfully as Azula yet again falls short. Doubtless he's never had to resort to such crude methods himself. "For example, your anger as a knife. Sheathe it and put it away somewhere you can't reach it." 

She pictures it: the dagger Zuko received from Uncle all those years ago, and how she'd wanted to bury it in his chest. 

Her sadness: a single stick of incense wafting lonely jasmine smoke towards unmoved ghosts. 

Her fear: a wall of flame, not so easily bottled up, and a shaded figure of omens just beyond it. 

Her happiness: at that, she falters. She isn't sure what qualifies. Zuko's disgrace? Her exaltation as the Avatar? All empty lies, all cold, joyless loss. 

AAA 

Her rooms are too empty, so she goes to visit Haru after Ozai dismisses her. Two weeks shut away alone with her mind were enough for her. As she follows the guard down dim hallways lit by faltering torches, she considers the paramount question. 

During those scant few days before their failed attempt to flee the palace, she thinks she might have been happy, poring over maps scavenged from the royal library, deciphering decrepit texts about the previous Avatars, trying to teach Haru the habits and mannerisms of a normal Fire Nation citizen. She had a purpose and an ally, and she had hope. 

The guard leaves her with a low bow in front of a solitary cell. Azula clears her throat, frowning down at the figure sitting in the far corner. He gives no acknowledgement of her presence, gaze never straying from the iron wall six feet from his eyes. 

She finds that she hasn’t the faintest idea as to what to say. Haru's always been the one to try and bridge the gap between their clashing personalities, but he isn't being forthcoming, for once. 

"Something interesting there you'd like to share?" she inquires sarcastically, motioning towards the wall that occupies his field of vision. It's all metal, she notes, no way of escape. 

He stirs, finally. "No, but _you_ must have something to share," he says, voice cracking from disuse. "It must be really good, if you've held on to it for two whole weeks." 

"Oh, is that what you're so upset about?" she demands, outraged. "That I didn’t come see you for so long? Did it occur to you that I was confined for all this time too and couldn't visit?" 

"Well, now you're not," he says, his cracked-earth voice sounding unimpressed. "What changed?" 

She paces before the bars, oddly nervous. "My father is training me in the most advanced firebending techniques he knows. Once I've mastered them, my mission is to capture the Avatar. We know who it is now." She pauses, arms crossed over her chest to keep them from shaking. She's still getting used to the idea, as foreign as it is. "It's my brother, Zuko." 

No reaction from Haru other than tipping his head back to rest against the wall behind him, now facing the ceiling with vacant regard. 

Irritation flickers at her fingertips. _Lock your emotions away._ "Did you hear what I just said." 

"Congratulations, Princess. I'm sure you'll perform admirably. After all, salamanders eat their siblings." 

Those were once her words, spoken in a moment of vulnerability, now rudely thrown back in her face. "What are you saying?" 

"Do you really think your brother Zuko will jump at the chance to rejoin his abusive father who scarred and banished him?" Haru asks. "The Fire Lord can't depend on the Avatar as an ally, so he has to destroy him, using you. Why else would he be teaching you secret techniques, if not to prepare you to kill your brother?" 

Azula's not stupid; she suspects as much as well. "I have no choice, though. I have to." She grabs the bars of the cell, suddenly desperate to see him rightly, not this Haru that sounds world-weary and exhausted just listening to her talk. "I'm doing this for you, idiot. If I don't obey him, he'll have you executed." 

A thought presents itself to her, something that might sway him. "I'll ask my father to let you go with me to find Zuko. Once the job is done, I'll look the other way. You can go home to your people." 

 _That's what he wants, isn't it? That's what would make him happy._  

"And tell them that I helped kill the Avatar, their only hope against the Fire Nation? That will go down well." Haru looks at her directly for the first time since her arrival. His eyes are withdrawn and distant, as unwelcoming as his words of cold jade. "Don’t look to me, Princess, to ease your conscience. Don’t you have any friends for these kinds of conversations?" 

His nerve should move her to fury, but perhaps her father's lessons are sinking in. All she feels is a damp sense of resignation to the fact that no, she _doesn’t_ have any friends at her side that she can talk to. "I used to, but they've all left," she says honestly. She omits to say, _they've all left_ me. None of them left with the intention of hurting her: Zuko to the Earth Kingdom, Mai to the colonies, Ty Lee to the circus, but all the same. 

"Fortunately for you, I can't leave," he says in a mockery of reassurance. "Not until the Fire Lord has my head. ’Til death do us part, isn't that romantic?" 

"If all you'll do is twist words, then I have no reason to be here." From her pocket, she pulls out a long green strip of cloth: Haru's headband, which she'd taken from him when they were preparing their escape. It would have been too recognizable, but here, it doesn’t matter. "I almost don't want to give this back to you, but… consider it a parting gift."  

She extends it through the bars, but Haru makes no move to collect it, so she lets it drop, fluttering to the floor soundlessly. "Whatever." 

Her erstwhile happiness is locked away, quite literally, but somehow that doesn’t seem to help matters at all. 

She doesn’t see him rise unsteadily to pick it up, wrapping the green fabric around his hands and gripping it tightly like a talisman. 

~~~ 

 **ZUKO**  

"Didn’t the moon spirit give you any helpful directions?" Sokka asks. "Street address? Village? That sort of thing?" 

"I don’t think spirits think in these terms," Zuko says. "The spirit world is different from this one. Yue can detect the presence of waterbenders, but not the more specific details of the mortal world." 

They continue to wade their way through a massive field of fire lilies, though the flowers aren't in bloom during the winter. Here and there, bare slabs of rock push their way up through the foliage, reminders of the time when the hulking mountain behind them was an active volcano. Sokka flings his boomerang idly at one such boulder. It bounces off with a resonant _ting_ and returns to his hand. 

"A village in the southeast corner of a small island in the eastern Fire Nation—that could be anywhere, though," Katara says. "How do we know this is the place we want?"  

Zuko smiles in spite of their downcast outlook. "Think from a lunar perspective." He walks over to a particularly flat boulder to serve as a map. "There are six islands in the eastern third of the Fire Nation archipelago, four of which could be termed small, relatively speaking." Under his fingers, the four islands bend themselves out of the stone, small raised embossments on the smooth surface. 

He indicates the one farthest to the left. "This one is home to my former master, Piandao, who taught me the way of the sword. It's a beautiful place, full of scenic cliffs and waterfalls, but the southeastern half is practically uninhabited because the land there is so steep and mountainous." 

The next one to the right is Janghui. "Years ago, the army built a huge smelting factory that dumps its waste directly into the river. The water is so polluted that you can't even fish in it. No waterbender would survive in a place like this." 

He skips to the one on the far right. "That’s Crescent Island, home to no one except the Fire Sages. Of these four islands, this one," he points to the second from the right, the one they're currently on, "has a few settlements in the southeast corner. The one we're approaching is the largest and most likely place for a waterbender to hide." 

They had landed on the island in the late afternoon after departing from the site of Zhao's defeat. Winter solstice is a month away, and the sun sets quickly in the evenings. The wooded slopes at the foot of the mountain provide a little shelter, but early winter in the Fire Nation is harsher than Zuko remembers. They huddle close before the fire, resigned to a frigid night out before venturing into town. 

Sokka has the brilliant idea of telling ghost stories to pass the time and immediately launches into a tale about something called the Blade of Wing Fung and a man with swords for hands. Zuko mostly tunes it out in favor of observing the group around him. 

Convincing them to come to the Fire Nation had been easier than he'd expected. Waterbending under the influence of Yue's power had inspired a new determination in Katara to cultivate her talent under a master, no matter where they were, while Sokka thought of it more strategically ("The last place the Fire Nation will expect us to go, and therefore the safest, is the Fire Nation itself!"). Toph is glad as always to visit new places, and Aang… 

His thoughts scatter like clouds after a thunderstorm as Aang plops down next to him, having said goodnight to Appa and stowed the sky bison away deep in the forest to avoid detection. Zuko leans back on his hands, legs stretched out before him, and Aang does the same to his right. Behind them, their fingers brush, out of sight. Neither of them moves. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he quietly regards the airbender. They're all in standard Fire Nation dress now; Aang's blue arrow tattoos are hidden under a dull red headscarf, tied in a secure knot at the base of his skull. To blend in with the locals, they'd ransacked an unlucky housewife's laundry drying on the clothesline (Katara insisted they leave some sort of payment, so Sokka and Zuko made short work of the stack of uncut firewood sitting in the yard and decided to call it even). 

In the soft firelight, with his bandanna a little lopsided and a minute smile on his face at Sokka's increasingly implausible story, Aang looks perfectly debonair and welcoming, and Zuko is fast losing sight of the reasons not to just kiss him then and there. 

"Oh please, who would even believe that?" Toph sounds genuinely insulted at Sokka's lackluster storytelling. "Appa could tell better ghost stories than you!" 

_Reason #1: Everyone is here and watching._

"What's wrong with ghost stories not being believable?" Sokka counters, waving his hands like swords agitatedly. "The point is to make them as horrific and scary as possible. Who cares if they actually happened or not?" 

"Sometimes real life is more horrific than fiction." Aang silently hooks one finger over Zuko's wrist as he says this, completely unaffected. 

Everyone looks at him in wary anticipation, as if hoping that he won't volunteer an example—everyone except Zuko, because he's staring into the fire and hoping that he won't spontaneously combust from Aang's touch. 

"Way to kill the mood, Aang," Sokka comments. "Honestly, I'll take fake ghost stories over real life horror, thanks very much." 

He's right, though. Their real life ghost stories will suffice to fill any horror anthology. Katara witnessing her mother's death. Aang's capture and incapacitation by Zhao. Zuko's damning Agni Kai. 

Suddenly, Toph sits bolt upright, face pale and shoulders tense as she cocks her head, listening to something. "Do you hear that? There are people screaming out there!" 

"What?!" Sokka yelps, then relaxes. "Oh, no, Toph, don’t pull that now, I know you're just trying to scare us." 

"I'm serious!" she persists. "I hear people screaming under the mountain. Zuko, don’t you hear anything?" 

He sits up properly as well, letting Aang's loose grip on his hand drop, and listens to the earth, but either his seismic sense is out of practice, or… 

"It stopped." For once, Toph sounds faintly disturbed. "It sounded like a lot of people, screaming for help." 

"Okay, now you're really scaring me." Sokka grips onto his sister's arm tightly, while Katara looks only a little less unnerved. 

"Maybe there's an angry spirit haunting these parts, like in Meikuang," Toph says. "Could it be that the people around here have done something horrible to nature?"  

Zuko doesn’t think so; all they've seen of the area so far has shown nothing that indicates tension between the people and their natural surroundings. Still, it can't hurt to be careful, especially if Toph is detecting something out of the ordinary. 

ZZZ 

He knocks on the door of the isolated inn with some trepidation. She might not even live here anymore. His worries are dissolved, though, when the door creaks open to reveal an ancient woman with a strange vigor in her frail frame, as well as a familiarity to her wrinkled face. Somehow, it’s not surprising that she still remembers the name he gave her nine years ago. 

"Hello, Lee. You've done quite a bit of growing up, haven't you?" 

He bows respectfully in return. "Hello, Hama. We're sorry to bother you so late at night, but my friends and I don’t have anywhere to go. Could we—?" 

"Of course you're welcome here!" Hama exclaims before he even finishes. "I'd never turn away children in need of a place to stay. Come in!" 

She turns back inside without waiting for them to follow. The five of them cross the threshold slowly like confused ostrich-horse colts, looking around the dim hallway. 

"In the kitchen, children!" Hama calls down the hall. "I'll warm up some soup for you all; it's nearly too cold to shiver in this time of year!" 

They traipse down the hall towards the pungent smell of cooking. Sokka hangs back briefly, looking doubtful. "Are you sure about this, Zuko? It's one thing to hide out in enemy territory where they're least suspecting us, but to actually go into their homes and…" 

"Relax, Sokka. She's the nicest old lady you'll ever meet. My cousin and I stayed here once, years ago." 

_He's sulking glumly in the shadow of the creaky stairwell, banished from their room because Lu Ten didn’t want him to get sick too. Personally, he would rather be sick and with Lu Ten instead of healthy and away from him, but older cousins are just unreasonable like that._

_"Lee! Don’t sneak around in the dark like a thief. Come here and give an old woman a hand."_

_He belatedly looks up upon being addressed by his incognito name. It's Hama, the innkeeper, a wizened, wrinkled lady who must be a thousand years old. She beckons, and he follows her into the kitchen._

_"I'm getting along in years, child, and my memory isn't what it used to be. Somehow I've misplaced my spark rocks." She bustles around, opening drawers full of stuff at random without success. "Would you mind starting the fire for me?"_

_Zuko is overjoyed at the opportunity to practice his bending and barely avoids burning down the whole inn in his enthusiasm. Hama claps her hands in delight._

_"Wonderful! Quite the prodigy, aren't you?"_

_Zuko preens. Azula will be so jealous when they get back home; he'll be way ahead of her in firebending._

_"Now, let's get a nice hot soup going for your poor cousin…"_

_The ocean kumquat soup smells and tastes like rotting fruit, but that's probably what makes it good for you, as Zuko later informs Lu Ten. Under his watchful eye, his cousin grudgingly swallows every bitter spoonful._

_Two days later, he's healthy enough to resume their travels, and they bid Hama a grateful farewell. She seems oddly loathe to let them go. Zuko supposes she's rather lonely without anyone living with her._  

The ocean kumquats are as unpalatable as they were back then, but for some reason, Katara and Sokka are staring down at their bowls and then at each other with something that's not quite revulsion, but more like… suspicion? Do they think it's poisoned? Aang and Toph splutter their way through a few mouthfuls, while Zuko masterfully downs his entire bowl, not out of a liking for the goop, but merely a sense of duty. 

Hama takes this as a cue for a refill, not with the ladle, but by curving one hand over the steaming pot and _bending the soup into his bowl._  

Sokka drops his spoon. "I knew it!" He turns to Katara, who's similarly agape with shock. 

"You're a waterbender!" she gasps. "I can't believe it!" 

"Ocean kumquats taste just like sea prunes if you stew them long enough," Hama says wryly. "I thought you've probably been missing Southern Water Tribe food, being so far from home." 

"But how did you know Sokka and I are from the Southern Water Tribe?" 

Hama reaches out and gently presses a withered hand against Katara's cheek. "You're the spitting image of Kanna, my dear." 

ZZZ 

Zuko's head is still reeling with revelations as they set out for the market the next morning, Hama taking advantage of their combined labor to bring in a truly massive haul. Hama is the waterbender that Yue was talking about. She was a friend of Katara and Sokka's grandmother in the South Pole, and the horrible soup she makes for her guests is apparently a staple of the cuisine back home. She was taken by Fire Nation raiders in her youth and escaped after years of captivity. 

"It's weird, though, how she wouldn't tell us how she escaped," Sokka remarks as he inspects a misshapen fig. "That would have been a really cool story." 

"Like she said, it's too painful to recall." Katara brings over more produce to heap on Sokka's shoulders and frowns at her brother. Hama is still over by a vegetable vendor haggling viciously for more, while Aang struggles to balance two baskets of cabbages on his glider staff. "None of her fellow waterbenders made it out alive. She's lost so much." 

"Then why didn’t she try to get back to the South Pole, after all those years? I know I'd want to go back." 

"Well, there's not exactly a ferry boat that will take you straight to the South Pole from here," Toph says reasonably. "She wouldn't have had the means to leave the Fire Nation and go traveling far and wide before reaching home."  

"Thank you, Toph," Katara says defensively. "See, Sokka? There's nothing weird about her." 

Sokka is about to come up with a snappy retort no doubt when a man’s strident complaints at the fruit stand next to them reaches their ears. 

"What do you mean you won't have any ash bananas 'til next week?"   

"Well, I have to send the boy to Hing Wa Island, and it's a two-day trip," the vendor says placatingly, as if this is a perfectly sound excuse, but the other man nods in complete understanding. 

"Ah, tomorrow's the full moon." 

"Yes, and I can't afford to lose yet another delivery boy in the woods." They shake their heads, commiserating silently. 

Sokka looks at the others. "Definitely something weird going on," he says, almost in triumph. Katara rolls her eyes at him. 

ZZZ 

"I'm afraid not," Hama says, her expression stony when Katara pops the question over dinner. "I would love to teach you the Southern waterbending style, Katara, but not to a firebender." 

Zuko clenches his fist under the table, torn between anger at the unfairness of her verdict and shame at the very real reason Hama has for not wanting to teach him, the embodiment of her enemy. 

Aang squeezes his hand gently and sends him a look, a silent "should I say something?" Zuko shakes his head slightly; it's not their place to intercede. Katara can't hold her peace, though. 

"This firebender is the Avatar and the whole reason I was able to start honing my skills!" she argues. "Without him, I would never even have found you." 

"My decision stands," Hama says coldly. "I don't doubt your good intentions, Katara, but I cannot reveal the secrets of my people to an outsider." 

"But he's not like that. Zuko's—" 

"Katara," Zuko interjects in a hurry, though it really doesn’t matter. If Hama knows he's the Avatar, his identity can remain a secret no longer. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "If you won't teach him, you won't teach me either." She gets up and storms from the room. 

Zuko glances at Hama's dark expression, all her former cheer evaporated, and quickly evades her eyes. "Um. I'll just… excuse me," he says somewhat lamely. 

He finds her out in front of the house, leaning over the lip of the well and staring down into its depths. 

"Hey." 

She turns and looks up at him, her expression troubled. "Sorry about that." 

"You're not in the wrong, Katara." 

"Well, I used to be," she says thoughtfully. "I used to be like a frog living at the bottom of this well. Knowing nothing of the wide world but thinking I knew everything there was to know, about the Fire Nation, anyways." 

Her tone is self-pitying and rueful. "But then I met you, and suddenly all my prejudices, Hama's prejudices, seemed so narrow and close-minded." 

Her words touch him quietly, a place inside of him holding pain and rejection that he hadn't realized he was still carrying, after Aang found out about his identity, after Jet's violent renunciation of their friendship, and now Hama… Time hasn't yet separated him from all that hurt, but Katara's stolid acceptance warms him. 

"Everyone starts off that way," he says. "I've known some who've overcome their prejudice, and some who took it too far." He pulls the crank on the well to draw water, rotating the squeaky handle until the bucket comes up full of water and hands it to her first. 

"Thank you for standing up for me, Katara." 

She drinks shyly, a little deflated under his mild serenity and gratitude. 

"I think you should still learn waterbending from Hama," he says. 

"But what about you?" 

"How soon do you think you can master waterbending?" He feigns a casual tone. 

"I don’t know," she sighs. "There's so much I need to learn." 

"How about a month?" 

"A month?" she repeats, unsure. "Wait… you mean for me to learn and then teach you?" 

"The sign of a true master is one who can effectively teach her craft to others." He smiles at her disbelief, takes the bucket from her and drinks. "I believe in you, Katara."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should address one extreme departure from canon here, which was how did Zuko meet Hama?? This stems from a throwaway flashback in [chapter 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8213332/chapters/19600606) of _brave enough to die_ ; during their year of travel, Lu Ten gets sick and Zuko is super worried. They briefly stay with Hama until he recovers. I actually hadn't planned for this to happen when I wrote that anecdote, but now it did happen. Also, you all should definitely read _brave enough to die_ when you're bored waiting for updates on the main plot, because it does not get enough love. It might help things make more sense when Lu Ten does reappear in the main plot somewhere down the road ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [Chapter writing notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/25088760)


	4. Watershed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 一心不許二意。
> 
> One heart cannot have two purposes.

**HARU**

He pretends to be very interested in the non-existent fly on the wall of his cell, but it's clearly not fooling the princess. She's been sitting outside the bars for five minutes now, her expressionless profile silent as the grave.

Graves aren't always havens of silence and tranquility, it's true. Haru resolves that his own grave, when it comes to that, will not be so peaceful. As a ghost, he'd like to take advantage of some of the things he didn’t get to enjoy in life, namely, haunting Fire Lord Ozai until he's insane with remorse for everything he's done. For the sake of Haru's father and the people of the Earth Kingdom, he's willing to forgo whatever spiritual solace awaits him after death.

Princess Azula looks like she could skip the haunting, though. He tries not to attract her attention by staring, but she looks pale and unrested, tired circles under her eyes, more so than he's seen from her throughout their short acquaintance. More telling than her physical indicators of weariness is the fact that she hasn't said a word to him in the totality of the three times she's visited this past week. Every other day, she arrives in silence, sits in solitude against the wall outside his cell for a few minutes, and then leaves as quietly as she came.

Haru doesn’t say anything either. Bartering words with the Fire Princess has never won him any returns, just a one-way ticket nowhere. But seeing her now, so defeated, elbow braced on one drawn-up knee, cheek cradled against one limp hand, he thinks he might at least extend a white flag.

"You look like you could use a drink."

She doesn’t startle at his abruptly voiced suggestion, too leached of energy to manage. Unusually slow in her reactions, she turns towards him, eyes not quite focusing on him. "You told me once that your father taught you to earthbend."

That isn't what he expects to hear, but he nods. It is in fact one of the first things she learned from him, though not what she had hoped to learn.

"Earthbending makes me feel close to him. It's the only thing I have to remember him by, here." There is no earth in this metal cell, though, and his fingers thumb restlessly at the fabric of his sleeve, longing to bend clay and stone, terrified of forgetting. Not of forgetting how to bend, but of forgetting what bending represents to him.

"I see."

"Do you?" he spits back before he can bite his tongue. "Does firebending with your father give you a nice, warm feeling inside? Do you bond over genocide and tyranny? Sounds fun."

She doesn’t rise to the bait, instead seeming to huddle in on herself, wilting like embers smothered by dust. He regrets his words immediately, but they have been said.

~~~

**AZULA**

She knows his words are needle-sharp out of helplessness, goading her to leave, but she cannot. There isn't anything for her out there. If anything, learning firebending from her father makes her feel farther from him and less able to meet his demands.

"Today, he tried to teach me to bend lightning."

_"Lightning is the most refined form of firebending. It is the sign of a true master," her father says._

_She mirrors his movements, tracing the air with two fingers as if trying to conjure up lightning out of nothing._

_"There is energy within you, positive and negative. Separate them, and you create an imbalance."_

_His lightning begins to intensify, combing pure static charge out of the air before him, sparks dancing along his forearms like fireflies, but with a cold, untouchable light like that of still water on a clear night. Azula continues to mimic his manipulations, always just a step behind every move, but she doesn’t feel the separation of chi that he speaks of, the divide between the two energies that is necessary to generate such power. All she feels is the churning of nausea in her stomach, the erratic race of her pulse as energy thrums through her chi paths, unchecked and uncontrolled._

_"In the moment that these energies come crashing back together, release the lightning through your chi paths."_

_With a final steely thrust of two fingers skywards, like an offering to whatever gods preside there, he releases the lightning in one powerful burst that seems to go on forever, bleaching the whole room in white light. In that long moment of lucidity, Azula thinks he looks like a vengeful demon spirit, his long hair and robes billowing out under the pressure of the lightning, his eyes like torches burning low before the sentinels of hell's gates._

_Too late, she remembers that she is still holding onto what could be termed an utter mess of chi, but there is nothing she can do about it except try to direct it out of herself in an orderly manner. It's never so easy, though. Ozai steps hastily to the side as she releases the energy from her body—only to have it explode in a cacophony of smoke and fire that is not at all like the pure sterility of lightning._

_"Lightning is called the cold-blooded fire for a reason: precise and deadly, it requires complete peace of mind," Ozai remarks drily as she pulls herself off the ground, having been thrown backwards by the explosion. "You will not be able to control it until you refine your mind and temper your emotions."_

Peace of mind. She thinks of Uncle Iroh, the epitome of complacent peace and serenity. The old man faffed off on a so-called vacation two months ago and hasn't returned since. It seems he's found so much peace wherever he went that he's decided to stay there permanently. Or perhaps, he's seeking a different kind of peace.

The guard who enters at her summons bows with sinuous grace and awaits her orders, grey eyes respectfully cast towards the ground. She looks unspeakably familiar, and an old name springs to Azula's lips before she finds the right one. "Ty Lao, we'll be having tea. Not whatever swill you keep in the break room: bring us the warden's personal reserves."

Ty Lee's eldest sister straightens up in shock, impractical long braid whipping about behind her. She obviously didn’t think Azula would remember her from meeting Ty Lee's sisters in their childhood.

"I'm sorry, Princess, but we're not supposed to…" She glances at Haru. "Your safety comes first."

"Think before you speak, Ty Lao," Azula says sharply. "Do you mean to tell me you think tea is an effectual weapon against a firebender?"

"I…"

"I said we will be having tea, and so we will. Unless you want your parents to find out that Ty Lee ran off to join the circus instead of a spiritual pilgrimage to Whaletail Island like they think?"

Ty Lee had only told Azula, Mai, and her sisters of her plans before abandoning her old life, tired of being part of a matched set. The spiritual quest for enlightenment was an acceptable lie her sisters had fed their parents, who would have died of shame for having a circus freak for a daughter.

Ty Lao bows deeply again, cowed. "I'll bring tea at once, Your Highness." She retreats hastily.

"Old friends are still good for leverage long after they are gone," Azula says in response to Haru's look of confusion. "You were right; I do need a drink."

"I don’t think even the best tea will be enough to bring you peace of mind," Haru says when Ty Lao deposits a tray with a clay teapot and two matching teacups in front of Azula and flees.

"It's worth a try."

She pours herself a cup, and then one for him, which she pushes through the bars. After a moment, he stands and walks over to pick it up.

"My father used to tell me something similar about bending," he says, blowing at the steam rising from the hot tea. "He told me to imagine a huge rock rolling down a hill at me, and to think of the two separate sides of me wanting to take different actions: jump aside, or stop the rock in its tracks. I can't do both at once. In a single second of hesitation, I'd be crushed before having the chance to do either."

She takes a sip. The scalding liquid burns her tongue, but it's a refreshing sensation amid weeks of feeling cold with fear.

"What are you hesitating between, Princess?"

In didactic imagery, at least, the earthbenders seem to have an edge over her father and his less-than-transparent teaching methods.

Some part of her still loves her brother, while some part of her still fears her father. These two halves of her psyche swirl together in manic disarray like the tea leaves in her cup, escaped from the pot. Until they condense at the bottom, she cannot separate the leaves from the tea.

As long as these two drives remain entangled in turmoil, she cannot generate lightning. As long as she cannot commit to either one, she will be crushed by the rolling stone. One must subdue the other in order for her to emerge victorious. The only question is which one. 

"Do you know how my father found out that he picked the wrong child for the Avatar? That it was actually Zuko?"

He wrinkles his nose questioningly at her over the rim of his cup, caught in the middle of a long draught. She continues without waiting for an answer.

"There is a statue of Roku, the previous Fire Nation Avatar, in the temple of the Fire Sages. When Zuko activated a power called the Avatar State, its eyes glowed with energy."

"A bit of a tip-off," Haru quips.

"Yes. But the reason Zuko entered the Avatar State was to commit blatant treason. He used it to help liberate prisoners in an Earth Kingdom village called Meikuang."

She notes how the cup begins to tip from his slackened grip and reaches to take it from him, setting it down before it spills.

"Also, he recently destroyed Commander Zhao's entire fleet, which was sent to capture him. The commander himself is missing, presumed drowned at sea. In both instances, hardly any Fire Nation soldiers remained to carry the message back."

Haru clears his throat, fingers twisting around empty air without a cup to hold. "So… my father…?" he trails off shakily.

"Must be overjoyed to finally walk free," Azula supplies.

A smile nearly steals its way onto his face, so sneakily, but then: "Only to return home to my mother without me."

True. "I just thought you'd want to know. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it seems the war isn't yet over for the Fire Nation, if Zuko keeps this up, anyways. There may yet be hope for the people you hold dear."

~~~

**HARU**

_You speak as if you weren't one,_ he thinks sadly. _As if there is no hope for you._

"Thank you for telling me, Azula. I needed to hear that."

Her expression softens for a moment, jaw locked in tension now relaxed, eyes sweeping towards his in a blink-and-you'd-miss-it moment of companionship.

"For what it's worth, I think you should forget about your father and your brother and remember yourself. No matter what they want from you, it's what you want that's most important."

"Finish your tea." There's a hue of impatience in her voice, probably at the futility of his advice. It's all he can give her, but far less than what he wishes.

So he finishes his tea as she does the same and starts to hand his cup back to her. She shakes her head, though. "Keep it." She stands, holding the teapot and her own cup.

"Why?"

She gives him a superior look. "Has being in the Fire Nation for too long dulled your senses?"

He looks at the cup. It's cool and smooth under his fingers, homogenous in its porosity, the way well-fired clay should be—oh.

His fingers around the cup are cold, cold like this cell devoid of insulation, but the hollow of his chest is warm, energy pooling behind his breastbone and reigniting his chi paths. He thinks he sees a glimmer of that fire reflected in Azula's smile for a brief moment.

"Keep it out of sight," is all she says, before she lets the earthenware in her grasp drop to the floor.

Pot and cup smash to unmendable pieces, radiating out from the point of impact, tea and leaves dispersing all around. Chaos reigns on the floor of the prison, but Azula remains stolid as the foundation on which it's built. She steps on some of the larger fragments and grinds them underfoot for good measure even as Ty Lao comes running in a panic at the sound of the shattering.

As she leaves, Princess Azula is the picture of serenity, calmer than Haru has ever seen her. Inside his sleeve, he lets the teacup morph into a small sphere of clay and allows himself to think of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/25952109) on Azula's hereafter. Thank you for reading!


	5. Sokka's Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are you, and what do _you_ want?
> 
> Sokka starts asking himself the real questions.

**SOKKA**

"It kind of makes you feel insignificant," Sokka muses, gazing up at the meteor shower. Falling stars whiz by, ephemeral and brilliant for brief moments, then disappearing. "We're so small compared to them."

"No, I think that's just you," Toph says airily, quite unconcerned about cosmic relativity.

They're lying under an open starfield, heads at right angles to each other, shifting under the empty weight of the endless sky. Katara doesn’t get to enjoy the woeful sensation of inconsequentiality because she's with Hama learning to waterbend. Zuko had suggested a getaway for the rest of them, ostensibly to avoid getting underfoot, but more likely to avoid being on the receiving end of Hama's firebenders-destroyed-my-innocence glare. Having put an island between themselves and the two waterbenders, the group is a bit at a loss as to what to do. Stargazing kills some time, as do ensuing philosophical discussions.

"They're the small ones," Aang points out. "I can barely even see most of them. And besides, what good have stars ever done anyone?"

"The constellations have been used for millennia by travelers trying to find their way," Zuko says. "Not everyone has a sky bison with a magic sense of direction."

"Good point."

"Apparently before there was any life on earth, a star crashed into the ground, and that was where all living things came from."

"You mean we're all from space?" Toph asks.

"Maybe these shooting stars are bringing more space people." As if to support Aang's rather improbable theory, the meteor shower intensifies, bright flashes of blue streaking towards the horizon.

"I don’t know if it works like that," Zuko admits. "It's just something my cousin once said."

A huge flash of starlight, magnitudes larger than any before them, and they're on their feet, watching as a massive shooting star finds its way to earth less than half a mile away. The whole hill beneath them shakes with the impact.

It looks like this star brings death, not life. Burning its way through the air, the impact of the meteorite has kindled a fire in the dry grassy brush, and it's fast spreading toward the village nearby.

"I'll dig a trench on the far side to stop it from spreading!" Toph shouts, already running towards the blaze.

Sokka's about to volunteer to help when he realizes that his club and boomerang aren't exactly suited for digging. He watches nervously as Zuko approaches the fire as if he's going to walk right through it. He doesn’t, though, stopping short as the air around him turns heavy with heat.

The smoke released from the burning brush is pungent and thick. Even from a hundred yards away, he feels its overwhelming weight sinking into his lungs. How Zuko can withstand it is beyond him. Then Aang is beside him, dispelling the smoke with determined swipes of his glider. Slowly, Zuko rallies, and under solid sheets of flame from his closed fist, the star fire begins to shrink and fade, curling away from his flame like water on wax.

Sokka feels something large and wet nudge his side. It turns out to be a sky bison nose, connected to a trembling, anxiety-wracked Appa. The bison whines and pushes at him ineffectually, almost trying to hide his bulk behind Sokka and evade the wild flames.

"What's up with you?"

Of course, he doesn’t receive an answer. Appa could probably put out the whole fire with a smack of his tail, more's the pity that he seems too scared of the fire to get near it.

"Well, at least I'm kind of contributing." He strokes Appa halfheartedly. "Bison-sitting counts for something, right?"

They keep a vigil over the conflagration's slow decline as the night stretches towards dawn. Toph helps smother the spreading tongues of fire with a broad square of earth that she raises from the ground, flipping it over and over again like a mah johng tile. Looking towards the sky, Aang takes flight on his glider, spiraling in tight loops above Zuko's head, clearing the air of toxic fumes that would leave him gasping for breath. Between the three of them, the fire dwindles to ankle-height, until it is no more than a weakly cresting tide. Finally, Zuko brings his hands down and it wanes entirely, leaving behind only scorched earth in a radius of some seven hundred feet, nowhere close to touching the village and its unknowing inhabitants.

The heroes return, soot-caked and sweat-drenched, exultant but exhausted, and Aang immediately flings himself at an overjoyed Appa.

"Thanks for looking after Appa!" He pats the bison's cheek as he lows gently and blows out a warm breath of relief. "He's terrified of lightning and big fires. He gets really spooked, but at least he had you."

"No problem." His words fall brittle and spare. "Sokka, bison-sitter extraordinaire, at your service."

 _I guess it_ is _just me who feels insignificant._

He misses Zuko's quick glance of surprise and the way Toph cocks her head and taps one foot pensively at his words. Why would they notice anything was amiss, after all?

~~~

**ZUKO**

He wakes to the sensation of footsteps crossing the ground just a few feet behind him. They're hurried and tiptoeing, but having had time to familiarize himself with his companions' habits, it's not difficult to figure out who it is.

Katara's footsteps are staid and evenly distributed, her stride smooth and fluid like water. Toph is the opposite, feet sinking heavily into the dust with every firm step. Aang's steps are the least earthbound, just as Toph once described him: Twinkletoes, liable to fly away any moment.

He won't, though. Zuko knows this because presently Aang is lying on his side facing him, face slack in peaceful repose, quite worn out from last night’s fire-extinguishing effort. He smiles as Aang mumbles something under his breath, totally unaware of any nighttime disturbances going on around him.

"Aang, I think Sokka just stole my swords. Should I go after him or let him return them himself?"

A slurred breath out is all the answer he gets. Unaffected, he continues the one-sided conversation. "He's been out of sorts since last night. He wouldn’t even touch his smoked sea slug at lunch."

A disgruntled 'pfft', which he takes to indicate disgust. "I know _you_ wouldn’t like it, but sea slug is actually quite tasty. It's very tender, and the way they season it here is the best I've had in years."

The sound of metal clanging on metal in the distance, hastily stifled, draws him out of meandering thoughts on the local cuisine. "I can guess what's on his mind. Being the only nonbender…"

"Hm… lotus…"

He tries to swallow his laughter at Aang's sleepy non-sequitur—seems like he's still subconsciously stuck on the previous topic of food. "You mean the lotus root soup you had today? I'm not a huge fan. It's too flavorless, though crunchy," he evaluates.

The sound of Sokka's efforts with the stolen swords waxes again. "I'd better go talk to him," he tells Aang. "But you could be onto something, about the lotuses."

ZZZ

"You're wasting your energy using them like that."

As expected, Sokka nearly trips over his feet at Zuko's interjection and frantically rights himself, head whipping around in shock at his sudden appearance.

"You have two swords for a reason. If you use both to attack, you lose your capacity for defense. Instead, use one to strike, and one to guard. Otherwise, they're both redundant and useless."

His guilty look at being caught morphs into something more twisted. "Redundant and useless, huh? I know a little something about that." He holds out the swords to return to their owner. "Sorry, I was too curious, couldn’t resist. I mean, you always look super cool and dramatic and totally not redundant with these, and I thought the look might be contagious so I decided to try it out, but I guess it doesn’t work with me."

Zuko doesn’t blink at his unmanned rambling, understanding the self-conscious reasons behind it. After all, he hasn’t failed to notice the other boy's subdued sullenness all day, and the way he glares at every blade of grass like it's personally offended him. It's like looking in a mirror that shows his eight-year-old self, chasing in Azula's footsteps.

He takes his swords back without ceremony. "It's okay. I used to do the same with my cousin. These were his, originally. Even though I was a kid and could barely lift them, I always wanted to know what it was like to play at being grownup."

It's not much fun, he knows now. Lu Ten was hardly a year older than Zuko is now when he left for Ba Sing Se. Over the years, the tone of his letters steadily declined, making it clear that life only darkens as time wears on. Then the letters stopped.

"This is the cousin who told you we're all aliens that crashed into earth from the stars, right?

"…that's definitely not what he said," Zuko protests as Sokka laughs.

It's the thought that counts, though. Lu Ten would have wanted to be remembered in joy and good cheer, just as he was in life.

~~~

**SOKKA**

"I know how you feel."

He arches a skeptical eyebrow at Zuko. _The Avatar, master of three-ish elements (does waterbending count if he can only do it in the form of a beautiful spirit lady?), knows how I feel?_

"When I was little, my sister was better at firebending, so of course our father favored her. In all ways, she was cleverer, quicker, and better, except one." Zuko taps the hilt of his swords. "It wasn't much, but it was something that she couldn’t have. Something I could make my own."

His words ring familiar in Sokka's memory, well-meant but carrying the flavor of reproach and dismissal. The years have not sweetened their bitter sting.

_"One day, you'll make your own way as a leader of men," Hakoda says. "But until then, Sokka, I'm entrusting the defense of our village to you. Keep your sister and your grandmother safe."_

"I was fourteen when my father left our village with the other warriors to fight in the war," he explains. "There were boys on the expedition only about a year older than me. I couldn’t understand why they got to have what I couldn’t. My father told me to stay behind and protect the village, but there was nothing left for the Fire Nation to take. They hadn't attacked in years."

"Being left behind is never a good feeling." Zuko nods, the movement barely perceptible in the faint starlight. "Neither is feeling like you're worthless and incapable. But I'm glad your father made you stay behind."

He looks up, puzzled. "Really?"

"Of course. Otherwise, we might never have met."

That much is true.

"You want to help the war effort by becoming a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe. Well, you're in luck: the man who taught me and my cousin the way of the sword, Master Piandao, lives on this island. He's the greatest warrior I've ever met. You should ask him to teach you."

SSS

Sokka's morning dawns bright with optimism, which is unusual for him. Not that he's a pessimist or anything, just a realist. Theoretically, that should make his life much fuller of pleasant surprises, but so far, no luck. So, he's giving this optimism thing a try, starting with visiting a master swordsman who deserted the army and singlehandedly defeated a hundred soldiers, if Zuko is to be believed.

"Take the meteorite with you. When Lu Ten and I went, we didn’t bring anything for Piandao: bad first impression." Zuko shakes his head ruefully. "Heads up: there is nothing you can do to improve your image with his butler, Fat. That old man hates everyone except his master. Don’t take it personally."

"You're not coming with?" Sokka asks. "Don’t you want to see Piandao again?"

"Eh… I'll pass," Zuko hedges. "There are a few people I need to see and get some spiritual advice from in light of recent events. You'll be fine."

"I'll go with Sokka," Toph volunteers. "Nothing's worse than tagging along with the two of you on a spirit world journey."

"Gee, thanks," Aang says sarcastically. To Sokka, he says, "Take Appa with you too. I think he's really growing on you."

"I can't imagine why." He takes the reins from Aang, and Appa emits a vigorous grumble as if in agreement.

"We'll see you in about a month. If he kicks you out before that, just go back and see how Katara's doing," Zuko says casually. "We'll find you, no matter what."

"Is that likely to happen?" Now he’s kind of worried.

"I'll make sure Sokka is on his _best_ behavior," Toph says in her sweetest voice laced with menace. This reassures absolutely no one.

He and Toph take off in the direction Zuko indicates, and within the hour, he sees the landmark castle where Piandao lives, situated high above the sprawling village below. They get Appa nested in a sunny valley about a mile away. Toph peels away a layer of topsoil with luxuriant grass and drapes it over him as a somewhat convincing camouflage.

"We'll come visit you sometime, buddy," Sokka promises. "Just stay put and pretend you're a hill. Well, a hill that eats all the grass around it and sometimes snores. No one will be any the wiser."

Appa sneezes in response. Do bison have allergies? Hopefully not. They wheel the meteorite towards the castle, Toph bracing her hands on the back of the huge sphere and digging her feet. Sokka pushes it from the side to prevent it from rolling off the path, and together, they arrive at Piandao's front door.

"Ready?"

"Are you?" Toph shoots back, sounding quite doubtful.

"Please, I have enough readiness for the two of us." He steps forward and knocks as loudly as he can.

Fat is every bit as sour-faced and unwelcoming as Zuko had described. He frowns at everything, from the giant meteorite that greets him upon opening the door, to their sooty hands and countenances, to their request to train with the master, but ultimately, he shows them into the hall where Piandao resides.

Sokka hadn't reckoned with the master being just as inscrutable as his butler is transparent. For one, he hasn’t bothered to rise from his seat or look up from what looks to be a thoroughly engrossing bout of calligraphy, throughout the entirety of Sokka's bumbling introduction.

"Sokka," he pronounces thoughtfully. "That’s an interesting name."

 _Thanks, I always thought so too._ Right now, though, he needs to be not interesting but rather plain and normal as can be. "Uh, really? Because where I'm from, the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom, it's a very common name."

Piandao hmm's for a long moment, which is not encouraging. Sokka forges on in the hopes that details will make his story more credible. "And this is my…" he considers his and Toph's relatively huge difference in appearance, discounts "cousin", and settles for, "…adoptive sister, Toph. But she's not here to learn the way of the sword, because—"

"Nice to meet you, sir," Toph interjects blandly, arms crossed and lips slightly scrunched in amusement at his panicked efforts to concoct a believable cover story. "Don’t mind me, I'm just here to supervise my brother. He's a two-year-old at heart, but he means well."

"I see." Still, the master does not deign to grace them with anything other than the back of his head. "Which colony did you say you were from?"

"Uh…"

"He didn’t, but we're from Yu Dao," Toph supplies, for which Sokka is grateful.

"The best metalworkers in the world hail from Yu Dao," Piandao remarks. "You'll have to tell me all about it; I've never had the fortune of visiting."

"Does that mean you'll teach me?" Sokka asks hopefully. He's banking on Toph to know more about Yu Dao than just its name; he has no idea where it even is.

"That depends. Are you worthy of being taught?" Piandao finally rises and turns towards them, a fluid, graceful motion that belies the aged lines of his face.

"Well, that depends too." He scratches his head, considering how to go about this in a way that is neither too modest nor too arrogant, "I may not be the best swordsman in my hometown—"

He's cut off by a calligraphy brush that comes hurtling towards his head in mid-sentence, which he evades by a sliver. Piandao regards him passively, not looking at all remorseful for this abrupt test of his reflexes. "That, I am willing to believe."

"Even though I'm not the best, does that automatically disqualify me?" he contests. "What is it that makes a person worthy or unworthy?"

"Ah. At least, you know how to ask the right questions. That will get you halfway to learning what you need to know." He nods at the calligraphy brush on the ground, which Sokka picks up, wondering what all this is about and why Zuko didn’t think to mention how maddeningly unstraightforward his old master is.

"Think about this then: what question should I have asked you instead?" He holds up a hand, stopping Sokka as he tries to embark on an answer with neither head nor tail. "You will have three days to ponder this question. Think of it as a trial period. If, at the end of three days, you can provide a satisfactory answer, your training may continue."

_Well…it's better than an outright refusal. Think positive!_

Piandao gestures towards his writing desk, still papered in his intricate calligraphy. "For now, let's start with writing your name."

"…Yes, master." He complies with a slight sense of anticlimax. _Is this some kind of "The brush is mightier than the sword" beeswax?_ He resolves to complain at length to Zuko as soon as he sees him again.

~~~

**TOPH**

Over the next three days, Toph wonders if perhaps this was Zuko's idea of a joke, but then dismisses that thought—Zuko wouldn’t joke about something that clearly means so much to Sokka.

All the same, Piandao's teachings don’t seem to have the slightest thread of logic to them. He foists a number of inexplicable tasks upon his student, from practicing calligraphy to painting scenic landscapes to composing poetry on the spot. He does include some sparring practice with wooden swords, though practice in this sense is more akin to getting sorely beaten by Fat, who spares no blows for the unfortunate Sokka. Toph, in her "supervisory" role, is excused from having to share in his woes, and the master seems to regard her as no more than a fly on the wall, a fly that can occasionally come in useful.

"The green mountains are / so unbelievably bright / and full of sunlight," Sokka recites. The task is to describe the landscape before them to Toph in haiku form. She doesn’t have to see to know that he's counting off his fingers and that Piandao is shaking his head in disappointment.

"I'm sure you're not wrong," she begins (always start out critiques with positive feedback, right?), "but I have no idea what green looks like, which defeats the purpose of this exercise."

"Oh, right."

Toph prides herself on having been able to learn earthbending from badgermoles, who are not the greatest conversationalists. But if Sokka can last three days under Piandao's seemingly unstructured tutelage, he may indeed best her. At this rate, it doesn’t look likely.

The end of the first day sneaks up on them without warning, though for Sokka, it must feel like it's been ages in coming. The evening finds Toph curled up on a plush settee in the very nice quarters Fat has arranged for them, while Sokka sits at the desk and grudgingly reads some scrolls the master gave him—what a relaxing conclusion to the day.

She ponders what Aang and Zuko are up to at this moment. Her reasons for accompanying Sokka instead of tagging along with them are manifold, but the most important one really is the fact that those two need some alone time. She could use some herself, but the disgruntled muttering issuing from across the room is not helping. Finally, the definitive clatter of bamboo sticks indicates surrender to a lost cause, irritation resonating in their wooden rattle on the floor.

"What's wrong?"

"Piandao's assigned me evening homework because he's not satisfied with putting me through the wringer during the day," he whines. "All this painting and writing and getting bludgeoned not even with a proper sword, now this…" He nudges the fallen scroll with his foot. "I can't catch a break."

"You're having trouble with the reading, aren't you?"

"Pot, kettle—you can't read at all!"

"That doesn’t mean I can't listen," she says, pointedly. "Read it to me; maybe I'll be able to help."

He sighs, scraping his chair across the ground to reach for the scroll, and starts again at the beginning of the passage as Toph sits up properly, both feet on the floor, wearing her best listening face.

"So… bad shit happens to this one guy, I forget his name…"

"Let's call him Sokka."

"…okay. Bad shit happens to 'Sokka', big surprise, and then his friend, whose name I also don’t know—"

"Toph."

"…right. Instead of sympathizing or helping me—uh, _him,_ —'Toph' just says something about this old guy who lived on the frontier and how he lost his horse, which has no relevance whatsoever to the story. Like, what?" he paraphrases colorfully.

"Did everything turn out alright for 'Sokka'?" Toph asks.

He scans the rest of the carefully inscribed characters, their neat rows blurring together on narrow bamboo slats. "Well, yes, actually, he was okay in the end. How'd you know?"

 _Who knew this all would come in useful?_ Ironically, she supposes she should thank her parents for her thorough, though unfulfilling, schooling in classical literature.

"It's a story in a proverb. The old man's horse ran away, but he wasn't super upset about it because it eventually came back with a bunch of other good horses. So actually, it was a good thing that the horse ran away in the first place. Basically, I'm advising you not to be so pessimistic and see the bright side of things. Maybe what seems like a misfortune will turn out to be a great blessing."

"Oh!" His voice brightens with understanding. "See, if I'd known that…"

"Well, now you do."

"Hold on, wait, wait. How 'bout this one?" He skips to another perplexing part. "Okay, this guy is flipping out about nothing, and his friend laughs at him and says something about a cup and a bow and a snake and a shadow? What's that about?"

_…several revelatory explanations later…_

"I don’t know what I would do without you, Toph," he says frankly. "I couldn’t have understood any of that on my own. How did you remember all these things, anyways?"

"You'd remember them too if they were relentlessly drilled into your brain since you were old enough to talk. All part and parcel of a proper young lady's education."

"Oh." An awkward silence, punctuated by nervous foot tapping from Sokka. He'd have to be deaf not to hear the bitterness in her tone. The thought lifts her mouth in a wry, unhappy smile: deaf Sokka and blind Toph, a pair of misfits that even Piandao would hesitate to take in.

"Well, it came in useful," he says in a cavalier attempt at normalcy.

"My parents would be proud, but I hated it. Being my parents' obedient blind daughter who never spoke a word out of turn and was content to just be a delicate house ornament. Why do you think I left?"

"Uh, to help the Avatar and save the world?" He hazards a guess.

"Nope." She props one leg up onto the settee so that she doesn’t have to listen to his foot tapping with both feet. "I left because I wanted to. I hardly ever got the chance to do what I wanted. Earthbending opened so many doors to me, though. I became an Earth Rumble champion, taught the Avatar, defeated Fire Nation soldiers…"

"You're an Earth Rumble champion?!" he interrupts in excitement. "Are you serious?! I can't believe it! Can I get your autograph?"

There's an ink stone conveniently located on the desk next to him, and Toph takes advantage of that to give him her signature—her signature move, that is, of smacking him in the forehead with the heavy block of stone.

~~~

**SOKKA**

"It's metal."

Sokka stirs from his crouched position, drowsing in front of the forge. The midnight sky stretches beyond the open doors of the smithy; it's technically the third day, but it still feels like the second, since he hasn't slept yet. To his excitement, Piandao has agreed to let him use the meteorite to forge his very own sword, but the initial conditions still stand: if he can't ask the right question at the end of the third day, it won't matter. The best sword in the world can't compensate for a lack of training.

Right now, the ore is melting over the fire, which takes a lot longer than he thought it would. It's flattering that Piandao trusts him to watch over it alone, but he's also terrified that Fat is going to stomp in and rebuke him for falling asleep on the job. He blinks the fog from his eyelids and tries to focus on what Toph just said.

"Yes, it is…?" He tries to sound as querulous as possible, not sure where Toph is going with this.

"So that's why I could barely shift the meteorite, when we were bringing it here. When I was rolling it up the hill, I had to bend the earth underfoot to push it up. I couldn’t bend the meteorite itself."

He does recall how the ground quaked with every step they took and himself wondering if Piandao would take one look at the rock and slam the door in his face.

"My father owns a metal refinery business, just like this," Toph nods at the hearth burning steadily, "but bigger. It's the main source of our family's wealth. He used to tell me about it sometimes. It was the only thing I ever really took an interest in besides earthbending, but of course, he never spoke of it with the intention of passing it on to me. It probably would have gone to whoever I got married off to.

"I always liked learning about the process. The refinery employed dozens of earthbenders who would transport the raw ore to be melted and purified. The result would be refined iron or steel, which was then sold to smiths to forge into lots of things.

"I asked him why they couldn’t just use earthbending to separate the metal out of the crude ore. He told me that metal can't be bent. It can only be purified and refined by getting heated, melted, and pounded, by going through pressure and pain.

"My parents expected me to be something I'm not. I couldn’t take the pressure anymore, so I left."

The smithy is quiet. Beyond the steady cycle of their breaths is the hum of the fire and the hiss and bubble of metal losing its texture and collapsing into molten liquid, ready to be shaped at will. It's calming and tranquil, easing Sokka's thoughts into a place where he's not worried about Piandao's question or his relative worthiness. It's easy to just exist for a moment or longer here.

"What do you think Master Piandao expects you to be?"

He jumps slightly, half-startled out of his reverie induced by Toph's reminiscing. "Probably a master swordsman just like him. Though I haven't the faintest idea as to how all this mumbo jumbo is going to help with becoming a great warrior."

~~~

**TOPH**

_Is that all you want to be, though? A great warrior?_

She leans over and snags a fist-sized lump of meteorite from the pile next to Sokka. She has known for a long time what she wants to be. The greatest earthbender in the world? Been there, done that, old news. But there's more, there's always something else.

She cradles the metal in her hands, a fragment of another world beyond this one, a symbol of an element she has yet to master. Because if metal is just a part of earth, then why shouldn’t she be able to bend it? Flexing her fingers, she curls them tightly around the little piece of meteorite and feels the faintest crack begin to emerge. Its shape crumbles and morphs, more fluid and yielding than earth.

 _What's that you said about metal, Father? If only you could see this._ Under her delighted guidance, the meteorite transforms into a tiny but recognizable figure.

"What on earth is that?!" Sokka exclaims, finally noticing what she's doing.

She pretends to misunderstand him. "It's not on earth, it's _on metal_."

"Yes, I get that you just somehow invented metalbending," he dismisses without a thought. "Cool, cool, but I meant, what is that lumpy thing actually supposed to be?"

Of all the things … "It's Appa! Can’t you tell?" Her pride is a little wounded, to be honest. Surely the little metal bison doesn’t look that… lumpy?

"It's…" Sokka guffaws. "That's not… why does he have two extra legs?"

"Those are his horns!" she shrieks, flinging her masterpiece at him. "I think you're missing the point here."

"No, Toph, I think I've got it loud and clear."

~~~ 

**SOKKA**

"Master, would it be alright if I changed my name quickly before answering your question?"

It is the morning after the third day, and Sokka's question is due. In the past three days, he's acquired a one-of-its-kind sword forged from a meteorite and a newfound respect for the quandaries of the mind that Piandao seems to so favor over the martial arts.

The master ponders his rather preposterous request. "You stamp your identity on paper with your name, and on the battlefield with your sword—do you mean to tell me that your identity has changed so spontaneously?"

Sokka fiddles with the hilt of his space sword. Something tells him that crossing words with Piandao will always leave him marginally unsure of himself, but he continues nonetheless.

"Yes, it has. With input from others—," he hears a gentle snort from an otherwise indifferent Toph, "I've come to realize that the question of you teaching me doesn’t stem from my intrinsic worth, but from something else. That's become the basis of my name."

He's gratified to see curiosity piqued in Piandao's eyes instead of flat dismissal. "Very well, Sokka. Let's see your new identity, then."

He unrolls and flattens a new roll of paper, picks up his brush with rehearsed delicacy, and dips it in the ink that the master always keeps prepared. He does not get any ink on his face.

He takes his time, following each sweeping curve and straight line through to the end. The pale morning sun shines on the back of his neck, a comfortable warmth under Piandao's frigid gaze. Twenty strokes later, he sits back and considers his work. It will have to be enough.

Piandao looks down at what he has written. "Sokka," he murmurs, pronouncing the two characters that now comprise his name. "'That which is desired.'"

"More specifically, that which is desired because I want it for myself, and not for the sake of someone else's expectations."

He thinks of Toph, who ran away from home time and time again, because what she wanted didn’t line up with what her parents wanted for her, who taught herself to metalbend for no other reason than that she had the skill and the desire. He thinks of himself and Katara, who did the same because they wanted a life that the South Pole couldn't provide for them.

"The question that matters: what do you want from life?"

Now, he wants to become a master swordsman, not because of his father's parting charge to him, nor because he's worthy of learning.

Piandao looks at him with a piercing gaze that is at once focused with clarity and soul-searching, but also distant and withdrawn, perhaps in memories of times gone by. His fingers rest by the brush that Sokka has set down, curling and uncurling restlessly. The motion recalls the way Toph shaped the iron of the meteorite like plain earth, rolling and warping its likeness into a myriad different forms at will, much unlike the way her parents tried to mold her into the child they wanted. The metal now curls around her upper arm in a thick bracelet, a reminder that where there's a will, there's a way.

At length, Piandao nods, seemingly concluding his pensive thoughts and returning to the present. "The way of the sword belongs to all people, no matter what nation or place in life they hail from. No one is unworthy. The only thing that determines whether a person can be taught successfully is their desire and will to learn, which you have shown yourself to possess in abundance."

Toph raises her eyebrows at him behind Piandao's back, probably thinking back to all those hours Sokka spent talking her ear off about the master's unbearably dense and obscure teachings. He tries to keep a straight face—he's on the cusp of a breakthrough here and can't afford any distractions.

"I will train you in the way of the sword, Sokka, as you wish," Piandao pronounces gravely.

This is what he wants in life, and no one can take it from him.

~~~

**PIANDAO**

True to his word, Piandao continues Sokka's training, but his methods remain off the beaten path as ever.

"A warrior uses his environment to his advantage. You have one hour to alter the grounds in whatever way you see fit," (Fat utters a dismayed whine at this), "after which, it will be my task to seek you out and engage you in combat."

He can sense their nervous excitement and eagerness to begin even as he leaves and smiles in spite of himself. They remind him of nothing so much as the last two students he had, one small and one tall. He really is getting old: Mushi and Lee left his tutelage nine years ago now. He's not so senile that he fails to notice a few anomalies with this pair, though.

_What do you want from life?_

Not, _what is expected of you in life?_ Four years after leaving, Mushi fell prey to this very trap in the shadow of the walls of Ba Sing Se. But against all odds, despite how hope wanes like the rays of the sun in an eclipse… Lee can still be saved. It all hinges on this flame-bright boy of frigid seas who thinks Sokka is a common colonial name and refuses to be put out no matter how the world and its whimsical cruelties try to douse him.

"Oh, spirits," Fat groans from the window, witnessing the growing disarray outside. Their hour is almost up. “It’ll take ages to replace all those rocks they’re using for a fort.”

"Invoking the spirits won't restore the state of the grounds," he scolds mildly. "That's why I have you."

A disconsolate grumble is all the response he gets.

"Sokka is not from Yu Dao." Piandao hasn't traveled the wide world for nothing. Bright blue eyes, indomitable will to persevere despite his mean origins and lack of skill… "He's Water Tribe, all right."

"And the girl's an earthbender. That meteorite didn’t roll itself up to the front door," Fat reasons.

He smiles as Toph propels a sizeable boulder at Sokka below, confirming the evident truth. "When were you going to tell me about the sky bison they hid in the stables?"

Fat sputters in shock. "I was trying to figure out how to get rid of the beast," he says, glancing away guiltily.

"That beast belongs to our guests. Just make sure it's well-fed."

Fat is beyond dour ripostes now. Well, there's a reason he's so paid so handsomely.

"Water, earth, and air…" Piandao muses.

"The only missing element is fire."

He nods. "The Avatar is here."

It's not particularly surprising. Their sister in Taku had sent word a few weeks ago of her happenstance encounter with the Avatar, a much-needed miracle now more than ever.

"Send a message to Iroh," he instructs. "The last I heard, he was among our allies near the Eastern Sea. He'll be glad."

Fat nods and leaves. Outside, the two are nowhere to be seen; probably hiding inside their fortifications. He picks up his sword. It's time to lay a siege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a look at [these notes ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/26574624) which will explain stuff like the White Lotus plot, Sokka's name, weird Chinese fables, etc...


	6. broken hearts are never true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."
> 
> \- Mycroft Holmes, "A Scandal in Belgravia"

**AANG**

This isn't what he was expecting when Zuko essentially suggested they leave Toph and Sokka and go on a honeymoon together.

Okay, so that wasn’t the exact wording, but it was pretty much implied that they were going to go island-hopping and spend long, romantic nights gazing at the stars and maybe take a ride on his glider together—it really doesn’t get much better than that in terms of first date ideas. But instead, Zuko's focused on poring over the scroll that Katara lent him, memorizing waterbending moves and trying to replicate them by a pond on the isolated outskirts of the lovely village of Hira'a.

"It's where I first learned to firebend with my cousin," he explains. "I thought it would be fitting to return."

Aang supposes that makes sense. It's a nice learning environment and all, lots of fond memories, but surely Zuko can put the scroll down long enough to go into the village and see the place a bit?

"Mm, I've seen it all before, it's nothing special," he dismisses when Aang broaches the topic. "You can go. I'll try to work on this by myself."

He doesn’t really want to leave Zuko here alone, though, so he settles down to watch his progress with waterbending. The character of the art form is rather like airbending, the movements thorough and connected, winding and doubling back on themselves unlike the staccato strikes often employed in firebending and earthbending. Zuko's surprisingly well-suited to it, his arms tracing luxurious loops through the air as he guides a strand of water into different shapes. Aang finds himself enthralled by the way he uses his whole body, feet rooted on the ground but not immobile, swaying with the water as it wends its way around him. He's mesmerizing in the fluidity and grace of his steps, but also resolute in the way he pushes and pulls the water back and forth, maintaining tight control over it.

There's one part, however, that’s giving him trouble. Aang scoots closer to peek at the scroll, which describes a move called the Whirlpool Gate. It incorporates a defensive ring of water that encircles the bender, who can then divert flecks of water out as offense. Zuko manages to hoist a sizeable ring of water up to waist level, but when he tries to shave some off at an imaginary enemy, it becomes too much to maintain, and the ring drops.

"Aang, could you move over? I need to see the second step in the sequence to figure out what I'm doing wrong." He sounds a bit strained from the exertion, and Aang quickly jumps up, eager to help.

"Actually, maybe I can show you a neat trick that'll point you in the right direction!" It is rather like a modification on his air scooter that he often employs himself. "See?" He demonstrates, gyrating on a sphere of air and diverting small currents away from the main stream here and there like water.

His student does not look at all enlightened. "Here, try it with me!" Aang encourages.

"I don’t think you ever taught me that move." Zuko crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at his teacher. "Besides, airbending is different—"

"No, I meant with waterbending, do what you were doing before, but follow my lead." Dubious, Zuko pulls up a ring of water as instructed, his motions sluggish with repetition. "Great, now concentrate on subconsciously letting it continue to flow circularly while consciously directing a single stream away from the main current."

"What in the flameo do you mean, concentrate subconsciously? Isn't that a contradiction? How is that even possible?" he demands in frustration, twisting this way and that to maintain the circular flow of water above the ground, but in the end, it falls once more with a muted splash.

"You just kind of have to let it go by itself and not keep a leash on it all the time, you know?" Aang lets his air scooter subside and touches down lightly on the ground. "The elements don’t need to be constantly under your control. Give them some freedom."

"Maybe air and water are like that, but not fire," Zuko says rather bitterly. "Definitely not fire."

He can recognize the cliff's edge of the conversation looming before them and senses they might not want to go there. "…right. Well…" he shifts his weight awkwardly, "I don’t know, maybe if water's not working for you right now, take a break and let off some steam with firebending?" _Great one, Aang. Way to derail the conversation from dangerous currents with some levity._ "Haha, get it? Because water and fire makes steam—!"

He waits for Zuko to catch up, but the disgruntled firebender rolls his eyes— _rolls his eyes_ —at him, well beyond amusement. "Aang, maybe _you_ should take a break. I think watching me practice winds you up just as much. Why don’t you go… hang out in town for a bit and take it easy, yeah?" He turns away and picks up the scroll again, intending to resume fruitlessly battling his waterbending block.

He feels his stomach drop. Turns out that cliff was right under his feet all the while. So much for trying to help.

"I'll be back," he says over his shoulder, his promise disappointed by Zuko's empty response. 

Definitely not how he imagined their honeymoon going.

AAA

It's still high noon when he gets himself banished from a pissy Avatar's presence. He won't lie to himself: it does sting a bit that Zuko would prefer his absence during his training. They're friends, after all, and as his friend, Aang should support him.

(He does lie to himself a bit about the friends part, but he'll leave that thought for another day.)

He reties and tightens his bandanna around his head to make sure no one will see his arrow and sets out to explore. The village has plenty of offerings, and Aang distracts himself. It's not unlike the times when Toph would exile him from camp while training the Avatar in earthbending. He can subsist alone for a bit.

The problem is he's been around Zuko so much lately that he creeps into his thoughts no matter what. There's a little streetside stand with baked goods, and ooh, are those Zuko's favorite egg tarts? He passes by a weapons smithy and wonders if Zuko's swords need any upkeep—maybe he should get some kind of… oil to shine them, or a whetstone to keep them sharp? He decides not to get anything for fear of being laughed out of camp thanks to his ignorance where weapons of killing are concerned.

Strolling down what appears to be the main street (and really, the only street) in town, he stops every now and then, but there really isn't much to see. He sighs. It's been an hour, and Aang thinks he should probably give him more time to cool down, so he keeps moving.

AAA

"Are you going to buy anything or just stand there gawking?"

He looks up to see a middle-aged woman, her face lightly lined and hair starting to grey at the edges, frowning up at him. He'd been admiring the intricately designed glass vessels on display in her shop for a little too long, it seems.

"Oh!" He withers slightly under her sharp glare. Is there some sort of unspoken time limit in which to make a purchase or abandon browsing altogether? "Yes. Um. How much is this one?" He picks up a piece at random, a delicate table candelabra that resembles a red-throated crane, with three settings for candles in its outstretched wings and the base of its head. It's slender and beautifully shaped and most definitely out of his price range.

The shopkeeper clucks her tongue and shakes her head as he sets the candelabra back down, terrified of having to pay for something he might break. She squints at him, her eyes oddly appraising. "You don’t have anywhere to be this afternoon. Come work for me," she says abruptly.

He prickles at that. "How do you know I don’t have anywhere to be?" The place he wants to be is where he's not wanted at the moment, and that hurts.

"Because you would be there already, wouldn’t you? Not wasting your time shopping for things you can't afford. That won't do, not at all."

 _Ouch._ "Well… I don’t know, I've never tried—"

She cuts him off with a loud snap of her fingers and stands, the movement markedly final, as if he's already agreed. "You can't be any worse than the average person. Glassblowing isn't magic, and as long as you don’t produce something that's utter rubbish, I can probably find it in me to pay you at least enough for your dinner tonight."

The decision is made for him, it seems. At least this'll occupy him for a bit, and who knows? It might even be interesting.

"Hurry up!" the woman calls behind her, and he hurries to follow her into the interior of the shop.

It's lit with several braziers stood around the perimeter of the workshop, which is wide and expansive, about fifteen strides long and wide. Several wide, low tables overlaid with steel tops occupy the middle of the room, their surfaces scattered with many implements and rods of different lengths. Along one wall, there are pots of bright powder of various colors on a set of shelves. At the back of the room, two large furnaces burn with red-hot fire, and Aang already feels sweat beading on his scalp under his headwrap; this will be an unpleasantly warm experience.

Okay. Glassblowing, lesson number one.

The thing is, the shopkeeper (Haiyan is her name, he learns belatedly) doesn’t seem to believe in lessons in the traditional sense of showing and then guiding her student through the complicated process of teasing molten hot glass into recognizable shapes. Instead, they go through the most cursory of glassblowing theory lessons and then skip straight molding his first piece.

He grips the blowpipe unsurely in both hands, wearing his fingerless gloves, which serve the dual purpose of insulating his hands from the fire and hiding his tattoos. Still, he's slightly worried that the stick will slip from his inexperienced fingers. It feels too long to be wieldy; one move and he's certain that he'll knock into something around the shop and shatter everything, including Haiyan's misplaced trust in him. Dreading the worst, he walks over to the furnace with it and sticks one end in, withdrawing a large blob of melted glass. It's white-hot and sears his skin even from the other end of the blowpipe three feet away.

"Uh, is this enough…?"

"Doesn’t matter," Haiyan says brusquely, "you'll shape it all the same. Well, don't dawdle, bring it over to the marver and start cooling. Don’t forget to keep spinning it constantly; asymmetry is a blight on this earth."

 _Interesting choice of words_. Personally, Aang can think of instances (faces) in which asymmetry looks just fine. He sets the end of the glass on the cold surface of the steel table and starts to roll it back and forth with careful evenness.

Haiyan supervises the process in her standoffish manner, arms crossed but eyes keenly watching over his every move. She gives a little guidance as he starts blowing, but otherwise lets him fumble through the steps on his own. It doesn’t seem like there's much that can go wrong, though, and if anything does, there's an easy fix. Usually this involves taking the rod to the second furnace, which is a little cooler than the one used to melt glass, and heating it up so that the glass becomes fluid and malleable again. This appears to work for everything. If the glass gets too rigid, heat it up again. If one side gets too worn down, heat it up again and smooth out the other side. Glass blown too thin? You guessed it: heat it up again and add more.

"The first thing you learn about glassblowing: the glass is like a heart. You've got to keep it constantly warm and soft. Every other minute, it goes straight back in that furnace. If you let it cool, it becomes rigid and frozen and easy to break."

Aang narrowly avoids a surprised snort at her sentimental pronunciation—fortunate for him, because he's busy blowing a gentle stream of air through the pipe into the glass. It expands the center into a gourd-like shape.

"Quite nice," Haiyan praises, seemingly unaware of how uncharacteristically soppy her primary dogma sounds. "You've got an impressive amount of air control for a beginner."

_Yes, that might be because I'm an airbender, in fact._

He gets a little cocky as a result, and on one trip to the reheating furnace, he accidentally grabs the rod too close to the hot end. Haiyan rapidly seizes it by its cooler end, preventing the glass from breaking on the floor.

Aang clutches his hand in pain. Fortunately, with his gloves on, the damage is less than it could have been. As such, the rod only burned his exposed fingers and not the entire surface of his palm. It still hurts a lot, though.

"Monkey feathers, _owww_ —" _Try not to run your mouth like that, Aang._

"There's a vat of cold water, I use it for cooling the pipes." Haiyan nods towards a wooden tub in the corner of the room by the annealing oven, and he hurries over to it. He pulls off his glove and dips his hand into the soothing water, carefully keeping his palm face-up.

"Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later," Haiyan observes dispassionately. "Good that we've gotten that out of the way."

"Oh yeah, that's a relief to know I've ticked that box," he retorts, a little sour at her unmoved expression.

She does give him a bit of salve for the burn and bandages it up professionally. He's back at the furnace in quick order, undoing the setback to the glass's progression caused by his mishap. Within three hours, the glass has gone from an unintelligible bubble to a recognizably vase-shaped vessel with a fluted lip, through a long grueling process of continuous reheating, rolling, and smoothing, until Aang thinks he's going cross-eyed with the repetitiveness of it all. In the end, he carefully knocks the completed vase off the end of the rod and carries it over with tongs to the cooling oven, where it will slowly cool to room temperature overnight and avoid being fractured.

They are done for the day, it seems. He sighs and stretches his arms over his head, neck popping at the motion. Zuko had said to unwind, but glassblowing is tense work.

"Here you are." Haiyan drops several coins into his unhurt hand. "Come back tomorrow and there's double that."

He shoots her a bewildered look. "This is enough for two dinners."

"You'd better find someone to share it with, then. Goodness, I've never known anyone to complain at being overpaid."

"Complaining—who, me?" Aang backtracks rapidly. "No, no, I will be back, and I'm holding you to your word, Sifu Haiyan."

"Excellent." She smiles, and it's genuine this time, no teeth but all eyes. "I've always wanted an apprentice."

~~~

**KATARA**

"When you're a waterbender in a strange land, you do what it takes to survive."

Hama illustrates this by twisting one gnarled hand in midair and bending the water out of a swathe of wildflowers at their feet, like summoning spirits. Instantly, the plants wither and blacken, leaving only deadened stalks. Katara watches, fascinated, as Hama shapes the water into a cloak that runs along her arms, up over her shoulders, encasing her upper body in a defensive layer.

She mimics Hama's motions, drawing the water out of the plants with a minute twinge of regret at their loss. In under a week, she's learned so much, how to shape water to her will and guide its form in line with her wishes. Water is a weapon, a tool for her, one that she can take with her anywhere she goes without arousing suspicion.

"Very good, Katara," Hama praises. "That's one thing our people have always valued: the ability to adapt to change. Your capacity to learn so masterfully is the spirit of a true waterbender."

She smiles at the old woman's praise but internally cocks her head, puzzled. The Water Tribe she grew up in was as resistant to change as the timeless glaciers of the South Pole. No one ever left the pole except the warriors, and then only to hunt and to go to war. Change was a dangerous thing; break with tradition and go wandering off somewhere, and you'll probably get yourself killed.

There is more truth in that than Katara likes to admit.

"Of the four elements, water is the most volatile," Hama explains. She draws her arms over her head in a wide circle, and when she brings them back down, there are a few droplets of water glistening in her palms. "It exists as vapor, as liquid," she supplements the water with more from the plants, "and as a solid." The water on her fingertips solidifies into long icicles, which she pitches to rest in the trunk of a nearby tree with surprising strength.

"The heart is like water. The colder it gets, the more it freezes, the easier it is to break." Hama slices through the protruding ends of the icicles with a quick slash of water and motions for Katara to practice the motion.

She glances curiously at her teacher, following her moves to draw what little water can be found in the arid air and freezing it into ice. As it solidifies, she wonders where Hama's sudden spate of sentiment is coming from. "Don’t you suppose a cold heart, one that has no love to give, would be harder to break?"

Hama laughs. "I forget how young you are. Someday, maybe when you're my age, you'll know," she dismisses, the age-old refrain of wise elders.

***

In addition to practicing her bending, Katara helps Hama with the household chores. She's chopping vegetables, abstractedly pondering Hama's mysterious pronunciations about ice and hearts, when she accidentally cuts her finger with the knife.

"Ow!" She drops the knife and clutches her finger, blood welling up immediately, dizzying in its bright red hue. The raw, piercing smell of iron assaults her senses. The cut isn't too deep, but it'll need bandages and a few days of awkwardly holding things with one hand.

"Let me see." Hama comes to her side and clucks fondly. "No, not in your mouth, dear, that'll breed infection. Here." She wipes the blood away with a damp cloth and cradles Katara's hand in her own gaunt one. Pulling water from the pot she'd just set to boil, she gathers it up and presses a layer over the cut, and Katara instantly feels the pain recede. When Hama lets go, she inspects the cut and finds the skin there whole and unbroken, with no trace of a wound at all.

"How did you do that?"

"Healing is another art cultivated by us waterbenders, and by far one of the most practical." Hama resumes puttering around the kitchen, taking out seasonings for the soup. "I'll teach you if you wish, but this is something more intuitive than combative waterbending, so don't worry if it doesn’t come to you right away."

"But how does it work? How can water be enough to heal flesh and bone?" Katara picks up the knife again, but her gaze remains fixed on Hama's back, thirsty for knowledge.

"Think of it this way: we humans need water to live. Three days without it and you're dead. We need water to produce energy for our bodily processes: walking, talking, thinking, digesting, and healing is no different. An open wound needs energy to stop the flow of blood and close up the skin. Normally, the body can do that by itself in a few days. Using waterbending speeds the process up by providing energy directly to the wound."

"That's amazing," Katara breathes. "You could heal any wound with enough water."

"Not quite. Some things can't be healed, even with all the water in the world. Scars, for example—the skin there is permanently damaged, and water cannot make it whole again. Poisons, too—those need to be eliminated from the body. Water can dilute them, but they'll still kill you in the end."

"Still, that's so useful." Katara gathers up the cubes of taro root and green onion she's sliced and brings them over to dump in the pot. "I'd love to learn healing too."

Hama smiles. "All in good time, dear. You remind me so much of Kanna. She was just like you are now, curious and brave and devoid of any fear, even after she lost her home in the North."

"Gran-Gran was from the North?" This is news to Katara.

Hama looks at her, a passing moment of surprise at her ignorance, and nods. "I see she never told you. That's the Kanna I knew, leaving the past in the past. She lost her fiancé and her whole family in the sack of the North Pole. It's decades ago now, but I remember the day she arrived, leading a small band of her brethren, the survivors.

"We had both barely come of age, yet when I looked at her, I saw the eyes of a mature woman, hardened with suffering, yet still undaunted. She told us they'd been traveling for almost a year to reach us, their only kin left in the world.

"Kanna knew the dangers of the outside world. I'm sure that's why she didn't want you to leave." Hama places a consoling hand over Katara's shoulder. "But I can imagine it would have been just like counseling her younger, indomitable self: well-meant but fruitless."

She feels like a stranger to Gran-Gran and her own people, never having realized that they weren't always the timid, war-torn tribe that clung to the stagnant shreds of tradition. Once, too, they had traveled the wide seas far away, but no longer. The war keeps them close together. She leans into the circle of Hama's arms, wordlessly seeking comfort.

"I never knew…" she whispers. "I resented her so for trying to stop us. I didn’t know how much she'd already lost."

_By leaving, I've taken even more from her._

~~~

**HAMA**

Ice cannot heal wounds; only water can. Perhaps that's what she'd meant to tell Katara earlier. All hearts can be broken, but those that are still young and warm like Katara's can still be healed. The same cannot be said for Hama's own heart, already scarified into ice by the endless years of suffering.

It won't take long, though. Now that she's planted the seeds in Katara's heart, the pain endured by three generations of the Water Tribe, the dominion of ice is imminent. Only ice can prevail against fire, and Katara will learn this too from her as readily as the rest.

~~~

**ZUKO**

He sighs and scans the rest of the scroll, looking for something he hasn't tried yet. His gaze falls on a series of pictures crammed into one corner.

"Waterbending as a healing art.” The illustrations explain how water can be applied to a wound to bolster the body's natural healing and show the process in several different areas of the body, including instructions for different types of injuries. It would help to have an open wound to practice on, though. How is he to know if he's doing it right if he's fine to begin with?

Well, there is something he can work with, not a wound, per se, but his scar might be worth trying to heal.

The thought gives him pause. It would be useful to get rid of his scar to avoid being recognized, but also to erase the shame and failure of the Agni Kai and start anew. It would be one less reminder of the history of oppression his family clings to. Yet as he draws a palm's width of water from the pond, he hesitates.

His scar is a part of him, too. It's a symbol of what he stood up for—the people of the Fire Nation, the hapless soldiers who would have been sacrificed in a pointless war, just like his cousin. The ordinary people who probably wouldn't have reaped much in benefits even if the Fire Nation did win. Even if they were fighting for the wrong thing, they didn’t deserve to die for nothing.

He stands motionless, water swirling above his open palm, considering his faint reflection in the shallow water.

'Your scar made you sympathetic,' Katara had said. A fleeting irritation lances through him upon remembering her frank words. Sympathetic or pitiful? He raises the water to his face.

It's cool and soothing on his left side, and out of his right eye, he rereads the instructions. 'Infuse the water with your chi and use the energy to push the water into the wound. Let your energy surround the chi points closest to the point of injury.' It's rather vague, but he does as it says, letting energy flow from his hand into the area around his scar, left eye closed tightly, but the skin there doesn’t seem to yield. When he lets his hand fall, it is to see that his scar remains in stark contrast, unmoved, unshaken.

Slightly dampened, he gives it a few more tries. Maybe he's got to get the hang of it at first. He tries using more energy, utilizing different chi points, altering the direction of the water flow. Nothing works, though, and at last he's forced to accept that his scar really is there to stay.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ he thinks to himself as loudly as he can. Not to him, anyways, and those who do think it makes a difference are not here to pass judgment on him.

He resumes practicing other waterbending forms instead, burying himself in the impeccably incorporated steps of each form and flowing between them, hardly giving himself a moment to pause. Hours pass, and the sun is nearly at its lowest point before he finally hears the light rustle of grass that signifies Aang's return.

"Where've you been?" Zuko exclaims, realizing how relieved he is that Aang's back.

"Oh, did you miss me?" Aang asks, his tone arch and teasing. He tugs his bandanna off and casually wipes his forehead with it—has he been exerting himself? It's not hot out, and the uphill climb to their campsite isn't that steep.

"Miss you—I didn’t expect you to be gone all day. What have you been up to?"

"If I'd known I'd get this warm reception after staying out 'til evening, I'd have left you alone from the start. Here, I got your favorite egg custards." He tosses a parcel in Zuko's direction, trusting him to think with his stomach and catch them in time.

Zuko's reflexes come through, and he catches the bag easily but frowns as he notices Aang's bandaged hand. "What happened to your hand?"

Aang waves it in the air, unconcerned. "Oh, nothing terrible. I accidentally burned it while glassblowing, but it isn't anything serious, I'll be fine."

Zuko takes the errant hand in his own, unconvinced. "Don't lie, you really did yourself a number. Maybe I can still…" He starts to pick at the bandage wrapping, but Aang stops him.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"The scroll had a section describing how to use waterbending to heal, and I thought I might give it a try." Now that he says it, it doesn’t sound like the best idea, attempting to use an unknown technique to heal his best friend without ever having done it before? Especially considering how his previous waterbending progress was going…

"Not that I think you couldn’t do it," Aang gently tugs his hand back, "but as I mentioned, I got burned while learning glassblowing from a woman in the village, and if it's already healed when I go back tomorrow, she'll be suspicious."

"Oh." He's probably right, but Zuko can't help but sound a bit disappointed. He doesn’t want Aang to have to be in pain when there might be a solution.

"That's alright, it'll heal by itself. Oh, maybe you can kiss it better, I bet that'll help," Aang says with an innocent smile.

… or not.

The silence stretches on in awkward bountifulness, and Zuko scrambles to find something that will draw attention from his flaming cheeks and the stutter in his voice that would surely manifest if he even tried to speak right now, dear spirits why _is_ his airbender so good at striking him dumb?

"Egg tarts!" he blurts out, finally landing on an escape hatch and startling them both. He grabs the bag which he'd dropped. "Did you get the ones with extra fire flakes?"

Aang clears his throat. "Uh, yes, I did get some of those. The ones without are mine."

Crisis averted, Zuko thanks his lucky spirits and pats himself on the back for a job well done.

Over dinner, Aang regales him at length with a detailed account of the woman who strong-armed him into becoming her glassblowing apprentice, and how he's learning the trade, slowly but surely.

"Anyways," he concludes close to an hour later, "I was going to bring something nice back for you as an apology, but Haiyan said she'll only let me do that when I manage to make something that doesn't look like, and I'm quoting her here, 'a diarrheic platypus bear passed flatulence into a glob of half-cold glass.'"

Zuko decides he doesn’t want to know what that would possibly look like. He thinks back to what preceded that very colorful turn of phrase and avoids Aang’s eyes, feeling rather guilty.

"Aang, you don’t have to apologize or do anything like that, I'm… I'm sorry I basically kicked you out this morning," he says, twisting his fingers together. "I… I didn’t feel like having someone else witness my failures firsthand. Though that's not exactly a new feeling for me."

"I understand. You've always been surrounded by people with huge innate talent, and it's hard not to feel down about your perceived failures in comparison. The thing to do is not to think of them as failures, but rather as preludes to success," Aang says sagely. "No one starts out perfect, and you shouldn't force yourself to strive for the impossible."

"No one?" Zuko feigns shock. "Not even you, Sifu Airhead, who mastered airbending at the tender age of twelve?"

Aang punches him lightly in the shoulder in retribution. "No, not even me. In fact, now that you bring it up, I should tell you about that time I nearly ruined Avatar Day in Chin Village years and years ago. I was six, and I'd just started airbending…"

He listens with half his mind, but the other half is on the familiar face before him. If time were to freeze now, if the passage of minutes and hours were to abate at this very instant but let him picture forevermore that undeniable smile and blue arrow above grey eyes bright with joy and mischief and _life_ —he could be happy.

 _They_ could be happy, he dares to hope.

~~~

**AANG**

"Well, you've somehow managed to scrape your way through mastering the basics," Haiyan remarks, examining his latest work. He's spent three days working on a ceremonial water pitcher with a handle shaped like a morning glory vine. She thoughtfully taps the purple flower sprouting from the top. "You may choose. What would you like to make next?"

Fortunately, Aang has given this topic plenty of thought in between endless rolling and reheating and molding of glass these past few days, and he has an answer ready as soon as she asks.

She nods as he outlines his idea for her. "It sounds frustratingly difficult and well beyond your current level of expertise. I love it."

"You're just trying to keep me here longer, aren't you?"

She ignores him, but he notes how her lips purse in suppressed laughter as she turns away to look for something in the workshop. "We'll need… hm, cobalt oxide or copper sulfate? Ah, doesn’t matter, you won't get to that stage for a while yet. I think I have some sea-glass stashed away here…" She murmurs to herself, already immersed in the vision of his project.

He initiates the now-familiar steps of gathering glass and tooling it to his heart's desire, inspired by the eventual purpose of his creation. Zuko did say he had nothing to apologize for, but this isn't an apology—it's more of a "…courting gift?" He tries out the words on his tongue. As predicted, they sound ridiculous, but they make him all the more fond of the idea.

"What was that?"

Of all the things for Haiyan to overhear—"Nothing," he says too quickly.

She quirks a shrewd stare at him but lets it go. He pulls the gob of glass on the blowpipe into a long, thin strand and gradually lets it cool into slight rigidity, the first of many, many attempts.

AAA

They pass the greater part of three weeks in this fashion, Aang glassblowing in the morning and watching Zuko demonstrate his waterbending progress in the evenings. Sometimes Zuko catches up to him in the afternoons, and they trade tales of the day's happenings, large and small. Not infrequently, he'll stop at the tea stand across the way or a shop a few paces down the street and wait there instead of looking through Haiyan's glassware. Aang's warned him that if he loiters, she might indenture him into working for her too.

Despite his elusiveness, Haiyan doesn’t fail to notice Zuko dawdling around the corner of the street a few times, and she takes to pushing her apprentice out the door earlier on these days. When he protests, she silences him with a blowpipe (thankfully not a hot one) across the lips.

"What did I tell you about keeping the glass hot? How will you mold your relationship into anything with an actual shape if you let it go cold?"

 _Dear guru, how is she_ so _prescient and yet still such a grumpy old lady?_ "How do you know our relationship hasn't already taken its final shape?" he challenges.

He wouldn’t say he resents her for being less oblivious than Zuko about the direction their relationship is heading in, but it is a bit disconcerting that a near-stranger can discern so much about them from a few stolen glances every evening when it's time to close shop.

She snorts, a lifetime of people-watching (and disdaining) evident in her derision. "You and your boy have been through fire together, that, I can tell. Now which one of you is going to brave enough to start shaping your vessel—that, I'm dying to know."

"Well, I wouldn’t want to deny you the opportunity to live vicariously. I'll see you tomorrow morning!" he waves nonchalantly over his shoulder as he stoops out the door.

Zuko is waiting as expected, but today, there's someone with him. A young girl, no taller than waist height, clings to his hand, rambling on excitedly. Zuko catches sight of him immediately, the corners of his lips turning up in that sunshine curve that will never fail to make Aang dizzy for a moment. His tiny companion, however, frowns and tugs Zuko down to her level to whisper something in his ear before dropping his hand and skipping off without a backwards glance.

"Who was that?" Aang asks as he draws near.

"Oh, just a little fan of mine. You know I'm popular with the ladies," Zuko says carelessly, deliberately.

"…"

"I _might_ consider letting you in on my secret if you treat me to dinner."

_Has he always known how to flirt or did that just happen this afternoon? Well, two can play at this game._

Aang wraps an arm around Zuko's shoulders, starting to walk them away from the glassblowing shop. It's not likely that Haiyan is spying on them, but it's not an impossibility. "It's a date," he says, the last word a fading note close to Zuko's ear, which he's gratified to see immediately flushes pink at his promising punctuation.

~~~

**ZUKO**

_Earlier that day…_

Aang had said he might be working late finishing his masterpiece, so Zuko wanders down to the village in the late afternoon to occupy himself. Everything is as he remembers it, full of youth and a simultaneous serene agedness, lively but also gently sedate. There's the bakery with the super-spicy soufflé that he nearly choked on; there's the tea shop where a lady duped him into drinking tea by promising that it would confer upon him the ability to breathe fire. He's since developed an appreciation for hot leaf juice but also the understanding that it augments the breath of fire only in those who already know how to firebend.

He passes a gaggle of children playing in an alley off the main street. They look to be around six or seven years old on average, around the age when he and Azula weren't yet at each other's throats constantly in competition for who was better at firebending. Thinking back on it now, the two of them rarely had the chance to enjoy their childhoods in such a carefree fashion. When Mai and Ty Lee were around to change things up, it made life a little more bearable, and Lu Ten while he was still with them, but in the end, they were still restricted by the palace walls and the expectations upheld within them—that their education and duty to the Fire Nation would come before their own enjoyment.

"C'mon Kiyi, don’t be scared!" One boy tugs a reluctant-looking girl towards the front of the group.

"Yeah, everyone's done it already except you," another chimes in.

"I'm not scared, but I don't _want_ to _._ Let go of me, Hide," the girl named Kiyi protests, digging in her feet, wrist twisting in the boy's grip, to no avail.

"You don't because you're chicken!" he teases, and the group immediately takes up the cry: "Chicken! Chicken!"

On second thought, this sounds oddly reminiscent of Azula’s taunting whenever he didn’t dare to imitate some audacious new move that she'd already mastered.

"I'm not!" Kiyi insists.

"Then prove it!" Hide lets go of her arm and pushes her so that she stumbles several steps. Just as she rights her balance, he steps forward in a deep lunge and sends a small blast of fire straight towards her face.

She gasps and trips out of the way, failing to catch herself and falling backwards onto the ground. The group has quieted down, seemingly afraid to intervene, but Hide seems to have no mercy, advancing on her. It seems to be less about proving that she's not chicken now and more about making a show of power. He draws back his hand to fire again, but even as he lets loose another volley, Zuko finds himself moving without conscious thought, and in the blink of an eye, he's beside the boy, one thin arm caught in his unwavering hand, the weak stream of fire pointed skywards instead of at the girl trembling on the ground.

"Rule number one of firebending: never strike at an opponent who's already down."

Hide looks terrified in his grip, so he lets go and kneels so that he's level with the boy, who's tall for his age. "I'm guessing you've just started firebending, so you can't control it that well yet. You're excited, though, and you want to practice your skills. I know the feeling." He remembers too well Lu Ten's very similar words to him years ago, when he wouldn’t stop nagging his cousin about learning firebending.

"You have to realize that it's not a game, but a big responsibility that you have to take seriously. Otherwise you end up hurting people, like Kiyi, even if it wasn't your intention." He'll give the kid the benefit of the doubt; they were just playing before he got carried away.

"I didn’t mean to," Hide pleads, nose scrunching up in what promises to be very tearful remorse. "I didn’t want her to feel left out, because everyone wanted to play."

Looking around, Zuko wonders how many of them actually wanted to have fire aimed at them for the sake of proving that they weren't chicken. Their somber faces look just the way he feels, nauseated and desperate to be anywhere else but here. He turns back to Hide.

"If you can, find someone who can properly teach you firebending. This isn't an element you want to learn on your own, without anyone to guide you." He stands, aware of how he towers over the children. "Well, go on home, all of you, before your parents come looking for you."

They scatter like crumbs before a strong breeze, and he crouches down next to Kiyi, still huddled over on the ground where they left her. "Hey," he says softly. "Are you okay?"

She raises wide, tear-streaked eyes up from the ground, shaking her head minutely. "I didn’t want to play. Hide always makes us play Chicken. It's not a fun game," she explains in a wobbly voice, as if he hasn't already gathered that from the proceedings.

"Yeah, I know that game." Or at least, he knows a version that involves apples on fire and Mai slinging mud pies at him in the pond. "Definitely no fun at all. Let me see?"

She extends her forearms, which are mottled with angry red burns where she'd raised them to protect her face against Hide's incoming fire. He doesn’t touch for fear of exacerbating the pain, but bends over them and inspects them closely. The burns don’t seem to be severe, merely skin-deep, and there is something he can do, as it happens, but…

There's a rainwater trough at the opposite end of the alley, and he finds it about a quarter-full, which isn't surprising; it usually rains more later in the season unless there's a drought. Carefully, he withdraws enough water to fill the space between his spread palms and brings it back to Kiyi, who stares at him in wonder.

"I'm going to make it feel better. Stay still for me, can you do that?"

She nods, still fixated on the water suspended between his hands. He brings it down carefully over the reddened skin and thinks back to the instructions on healing.

 _Focus your energy towards her chi points, and let the healing water flow in naturally._ He watches in as much amazement as Kiyi when her skin yields, emitting a faint glow as it absorbs the water and remakes itself before their eyes.

"Wow," she breathes, all eloquence robbed from her at the spectacle. "Are you a magician? That's so cool!"

He lets his hands fall, and her arms are now smooth and unharmed as they were before, no sign of the burns lingering on her skin after just a few minutes' worth of healing. "Um… yes, I am a magician of sorts. Although that's kind of the only thing I can do," he forestalls the requests he's certain to receive for more magic tricks.

" I wish I could do that!" She grabs his hand tightly, the pain of the past few minutes forgotten. "Thank you so much, Mr. Magician! Where did you learn to do tricks like that? I'm gonna tell my mom and dad all about you! What's your real name?"

He blinks several times, quite bowled over the onslaught of questions. He settles for the easiest to answer first. "My name's Lee. And you probably shouldn't tell your parents about this—you might get in trouble for playing with fire." _More like I'll get in trouble for demonstrating waterbending powers._

"Oh… yeah, you're right," she says, a little deflated. "Well, I'll tell them that you helped me by scaring off Hide when he was bullying me. That's okay, right?"

It's not technically lying, and he has to admire her thinking, quick and acute for her few years. "Of course, Kiyi."

ZZZ

_Evening_

The fire is starting to burn low when he speaks.

"I started firebending when I was seven. It was around this time in early winter. There was a half moon."

"Okay… is the exact timing relevant?" Aang asks, perhaps wondering if he'll be quizzed on this later.

Zuko can feel the vibrations of his voice buzzing at the back of his head, lying as he is on his side with his head sprawled in Aang's lap. Part of him wonders how he ended up here, but the rest ignores this in favor of exulting in victory at getting to this point at all.

"No, it's not relevant. I'm just adding this detail for authenticity. Anyways, one day I was bugging Lu Ten about firebending. I really wanted to learn, but he said I was too young. I kept nagging, and finally he gave me some pointers, but," he waves a hand in a sloppy gesture of futility, "I couldn’t do it at first. No matter how I tried, it didn’t work."

"So, what changed?"

He remains silent for a moment, thinking. "What happened that night was that I stopped just wanting to firebend, and started actually _needing_ to do it."

"Need…what do you mean?" Aang sounds confused at his word choice.

"That night, I got held hostage by a pack of bandits who were after money. Lu Ten was terrified; I think he would have done anything they said to get me back safely. I was scared too, and I remembered thinking that no one was going to help us—it was nighttime, and we were far outside the village, too far to call for help."

Aang reaches out a finger and absentmindedly traces the lobe of Zuko's ear, the same one dusted in flattered pink this afternoon. "So, what did you do then?"

The finger on his ear tickles a little, and he struggles to hold back an ecstatic shiver at the touch. "I needed to firebend, so I did. I burned the man holding me back, and I would have burned them all if they hadn't fled like a flock of startled sparrowkeets."

Above him, Aang is quiet, his hand finding a comfortable resting place on Zuko's shoulder.

"I sometimes think how fitting it is, that the first time I did it, I used it to hurt someone, just as firebending is too often used."

"Fitting? They would have hurt you if you hadn't struck first. You needed to defend yourself, and your body reacted the way it should have to protect you."

"I told a child today that firebending is a great responsibility and should be taken seriously. But I should tell myself the same thing, about being the Avatar. Because there's more to this than mastering the four elements. I have no idea how to control the Avatar state… or how to stop my father when the time comes. Or how to stop myself from becoming another Fire Lord in his place, just as merciless and cold."

"What?" Aang asks sharply. "Why would you think that? You're not like that, Zuko. You never have been, and you never will be."

"Haven't I?" He shifts around so that he's face up looking at Aang, defiant and challenging for all that he is lying supine and vulnerable beneath him. "You've seen me. At Meikuang, at Pohuai, at Laghima Island, every time we've fought for our lives, I've taken lives in return. Did they deserve to die, any of them? And yet they did, for no other reason than that they were fighting in a war they didn’t start."

Aang smiles in spite of Zuko's grim eyes on him. "Look at you," he says softly, almost to himself. "A true airbender at heart."

"I mean it," Zuko protests. "I'm the Avatar, I'm supposed to save lives, but I'm hurting people instead. Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, friends, strangers, the people I love—I hurt you, too, in case you've forgotten."

"Believe me, I would have forgotten already, but you keep bringing it up." He takes ahold of Zuko by the chin, tries to hold him there and impress upon him what he means, and how much he means it. "Being the Avatar doesn’t mean not killing anyone. It's about bringing balance to the universe as a whole. Sure, you want to avoid it as much as possible, but to bring justice to the world and benefit as many people as possible, you may have to. I'm pretty sure my father killed some people as the Avatar, but he did what he had to do." _As it happens, it still wasn't enough, but that's not going to encourage him any._

"Obviously, it's not ideal for your spiritual well-being. But if you know, in your heart of hearts, that what you're doing is right, then who's to say you can't make some sacrifices for the greater good?"

"Hm…" Zuko frowns up at him, narrowing his eyes, which had been slipping in and out of focus with sleepiness. "Since when did you become so wise?"

"What are you talking about? I've always been this way." He tries to sound offended. "But seriously, Zuko. You don’t have to face any of this alone. Whatever you decided to do, I'm here for you." _I haven't always been there for you, but from now on, I will._

"I know." He has known for a while, what remains unsaid as well, and it does hearten him despite his uncertain future as the Avatar looming before him. "I know."

He sits up, regretting the loss of Aang's touch but knowing that the hour is late. "Tomorrow… we should leave. We've been here for long enough. And if Kiyi does let anything slip about the 'magician' who used water to heal her… "

Aang nods. "You're right. The sooner we leave, the less suspicion we'll arouse."

The solstice is only a week away, and winter's chill is beginning to descend in earnest. Zuko earthbends a low tent for them, Toph-style, keeping the fire in one corner burning for warmth. He makes sure to vent the roof of the tent above the fire so they won't be smoked to death.

"It's going to burn out in the middle of the night anyways," Aang points out. "Get in; it's warmer like this." He consolidates Zuko's and his blankets into a pile spread out on the floor, clearly meant to be shared.

There is no arguing with logic, and Zuko slips in, hoping that the other can't see him blushing in the low light. He wonders dimly how long they will continue like this, skirting the edges and praying that they don’t fall into deeper, unknown depths.

This is fine, though. This is safe, he thinks as he sidles over to the human-sized furnace next to him, which wraps a loose arm around his waist, trapping him there willingly. This is… good, better than he's felt in a long while.

He lies awake for what must be hours but feels like mere moments, long after Aang has drifted off, basking in the knowledge that he is, in fact, loved. A simple feeling, but one still too foreign to him after all these years without it.

Outside, a chill wind rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some writing notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/28517200).


	7. Winter Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Aang make their final rounds through the remaining few tourist stops of the Fire Nation, including a visit with Avatar Roku and a disappointing lack of pretty fireworks. There's lots of sleeping, bowing, and sassing, not necessarily related to each other. Is it sweet with a side of angst or angst with a side of sugar? You tell me.

**AANG**

"Zuko, wake up."                                                       

A discontented grumble is all the response he receives. "I have to go say goodbye to Haiyan before we leave. Let me up, please? You don’t even have to wake up, just stop squeezing me to death, that would be good."

Who would have thought Zuko was a clingy sleeper? After considerable effort, he wriggles out from under the heavy arms crisscrossing his chest. His would-be captor remains motionless, breathing in and out with the steadiness and depth of someone who is on the verge of consciousness but doesn’t want to wake yet.

"Sweet dreams," Aang murmurs, reaching out to ruffle that messy head of hair, softly enough to avoid rousing him. As he turns to get up, though, he's confronted by the fact that they are in an earth tent with walls made of hard, dirty dirt that will not budge. He sighs. It's too early for this.

"Zuko, I'm sorry, but you do have to wake up. You can't trap me here forever."

"Hgrrrmph." A slight shiver runs through his sleeping frame, and Aang hastens to pull the blankets back over this lovable sleepyhead who _still won't let him leave—_

"Please, just open a flap big enough for me to get out, you can close it as soon as I leave so the chill doesn’t get in." 

Zuko cracks open a very displeased eye and finally stirs. _Success!_ One hand threads itself out from under the covers and smacks heavily into the ground, lowering the farthest wall of their earth tent. Immediately, he shuts his eyes again and resumes a comatose state, pulling the covers up almost over his head.

Aang smiles and leans down, giving in to the urge to plant a tiny kiss on his exposed forehead, the only part he can see now. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises. He stoops out of the tent, careful not to hit his head on the low entrance.

Behind him, he doesn’t see Zuko's eyes fly open in true, alarmed consciousness moments after he leaves, one hand reaching up to touch his forehead where he's sure he was dreaming, just now.

AAA

It's just past dawn when he arrives in the village, and the streets are still empty, the markets not yet set up for the day's business. The faint glow of lit braziers in Haiyan's workshop encourage him in despite the early hour. The master herself looks up as he enters, bent over the annealing oven where his final piece has spent the night cooling to its finished form.

"Sifu," he greets her. Haiyan gives him a strange look, almost smug as if she's won a bet, but he doesn’t remember them making wagers on anything yesterday before he left.

She reaches into the oven and carefully lifts out a small glass dragon. "It doesn’t look like a platypus bear emptied its bowels into hot glass, I'll give you that," she says by way of a compliment.

"Why thank you." He inspects his work closely for any flaws. The dragon is made of clear glass with blue ribs threaded through its long body. He strokes a careful thumb over its snout, mouth open in a flameless roar. Its wings and legs are cast smaller than what Aang had imagined for such a fantastic beast. Haiyan had pushed for that, citing historical accuracy, and he had gone along with it since it seemed like an important detail. He doubts she's ever seen a real live dragon, though; has anyone?

"You know, I was very interested in your choice of subject." She nods at the reptilian form curled in his bare hands. "What made you choose a dragon?"

"It's the quintessential symbol of fire and the people of the Fire Nation, isn't it? It doesn’t get fierier than this." He runs one hand over the back of his scalp hesitantly, wondering if she'll criticize the predictability of his choice.

"But dragons aren't symbols of fire alone." Haiyan looks straight at him as she says this. "They are also symbols of air and flight and freedom: everything beholden to _your_ people."

_Dear guru… how?_

"You're an airbender. I suspected when I first saw you working the blowpipe. Most beginners either put too little air into it or blow a hole straight through their gather of glass. But you modulated your volume so perfectly… I had to wonder. And now you've just confirmed it for me."

She nods up at his head, and with a sinking feeling he realizes that in his struggle to escape from Zuko's sleep-riddled clutches, he'd forgotten to don both headscarf and gloves, leaving his blue arrows quite apparent. He stares in horror at Haiyan, only to see her smiling and shaking her head, amused.

"Let me give you a little history lesson. The first glassblowers were Bo and Li, an airbender and firebender team who lived over a thousand years ago. They discovered that hot air expands in volume and used this to shape glass accordingly. It's the same way dragons stay in the air: fire in their bellies heats the air, which expands and rises above colder currents. Or did you think those tiny wings could actually get their huge bodies off the ground?"

Aang sets the dragon down on a table, tiny wings notwithstanding, afraid that he'll drop and break it with his head reeling from this turn of events. "You're… you're not angry that I deceived you?"

"Of course not. Glassblowing was our nations' shared art for centuries, until Sozin's war began. Naturally, you had no way of knowing this, and I didn’t want to frighten you off, so I didn’t mention it earlier. But an airbender in the Fire Nation… now that's something I never thought I'd live to see. I won't ask what you're doing here, but I'm sure it has something to do with the person this is for."

 _She's a clairvoyant,_ he thinks dazedly, _that's the only way she can possibly know everything and still be so calm about it._

"You don’t have to tell me anything. You're leaving today, aren't you?"

" If we stay any longer, other people will start catching on, and who knows, they may not take it as well as you have."

She snorts. "I have my eyes and ears and wits about me, but I can't speak for the rest of this village. Even so… perhaps there are other places you need to be."

He nods. "We have more to do now that we're through here."

"Wait here a moment, then." She leaves the room briefly, and Aang looks down at the tiny dragon, its blue tinges gleaming faintly with reflected light.

Haiyan returns with a long black cloak draped over one arm, which she fastens around his shoulders. She pulls its heavy hood down over his head so that he's covered from head to toe in an aura of mystery.

"There. It's cold enough outside that people won't look too strangely at you. And even if they do, it'll be because you look like a messenger of death and not because you're covered in blue arrows. Why _did_ you airbenders think it was a good idea to advertise yourselves so?"

He smiles weakly. Shrugging his hands out from under the voluminous shroud, he brings them together to make the formal Fire Nation bow Zuko had taught him. "Thank you, Sifu Haiyan."

"May we meet again in a different world, Aang."

~~~

**ZUKO**

The temple of Roku sits high above the shore on Crescent Island, and he remembers how he labored to climb the hill as a child when Lu Ten brought him here. Now he's back, and the temple is just as it was, the empty halls stretching high above their heads as they follow the hidden passageway down to Roku's sanctuary.

"This is so cool," Aang stage-whispers to him, voice straining to be elevated above the muted bubble of magma that drifts by at their feet. "Avatar Roku literally bent a secret tunnel out of lava under a volcano. Do you think maybe he had ulterior motives?"

"Like what?" He’s somewhat distracted from trying to remember the correct sequence of lefts and rights through the underground maze. It has been a long time, and while many of the landmarks look familiar, he's not so sure at some forks in the path. It wouldn’t do to get lost down here, especially not when they run the risk of being discovered by the Fire Sages, who may or may not be friendly.

"Well, maybe he made these tunnels to have a secret rendezvous with his lover? Like in the legend of Oma and Shu," Aang hypothesizes.

Zuko stops pondering between turning left and right at the upcoming corkscrew-shaped lava pillar and turns to chastise him for this far-fetched theory— _for spirits' sake, Avatar Roku had a wife and no he most certainly did not use these tunnels to meet her for secret trysts under the Fire Sages' temple_ —but what he hadn't reckoned with is how delightful Aang looks, warm lavalight bathing his face, his expression lighthearted and teasing and entirely welcoming, and suddenly it's not so hard to imagine that the tunnels were carved for this very purpose.

“He probably had an arranged marriage,” he says reasonably. “Most wealthy nobles did and still do. It’s all about making connections and sending lavish courting gifts to demonstrate your wealth and eligibility.”

_“It’s a gift, not an apology,” Aang says, folding Zuko’s reluctant hands over the miniature glass dragon and pushing them back into his lap. “I made it for you because I wanted to.”_

_The dragon is no larger than the width of one hand, its serpentine body coiled tightly and shot with streaks of blue glass. Its eyes are tiny aquamarine gems as well, piercing in their brightness._ A blue dragon, _he thinks, amused and touched and nostalgic all at once._

_“Thank you, Aang,” he says sincerely. “It’s beautiful. It’s amazing how you learned to shape glass so well in such a short time. Haiyan must be a great teacher.”_

_“The very best. You’d be amazed at what she told me about the history of glassblowing.”_

“So, how eligible would my gift make me among all the rich, artsy-fartsy nobles of the Fire Nation capital?” Aang asks playfully, disrupting his reminiscing.

“Probably not that desirable, because you made it yourself. It would be worth more if you’d inherited it and it had been in the family for at least four generations.”

“What?” Aang exclaims, indignant. “You’re telling me a beautiful glass ornament that I made with my own hands would lose to some dusty old relic that’s had four generations’ worth of greasy hands all over it?”

“Don’t get riled up, Aang. It’s worth the world to me,” Zuko soothes. “Well, not the _whole_ world, but a good deal of it.”

“Hmph.” He still sounds very dissatisfied with Fire Nation marriage customs.

Zuko suppresses a smile and pulls his eyes away resolutely, turning back to the path. Left, he decides, and it seems that he's chosen correctly, because before long, they arrive at Roku's sanctuary. The only difference between now and his last visit is that the doors are shut tight. "That's… a problem." 

"How do you open them?" Aang asks, tracing the seals on the stone doors. There are five of them in a row, and they're connected to a locking mechanism carved to resemble a snake curled up before a roaring flame. "Ask nicely, say please and thank you?"

"Well, considering that the Fire Sages can open these doors, it has to be with firebending."

"Prince Zuko!"

 _Oh no._ With the floors, walls, and roof around them all hardened magma and flowing lava, they're not going to get out of this easily, now that they've been discovered by the Fire Sages. He turns in dread to see—

"Shyu?"

The familiar old sage comes alone, hurrying down the steps from the tunnel to approach them at the doors to the sanctuary.

"Prince Zuko, you're here! I thought you would come." The man bows deeply, his long hat nearly falling over with the motion.

"How did you know I was going to be here?" 

The old man chuckles, looking much younger and mischievous than his age reveals. "I was the one to tell you, Prince Zuko, that the only time one can speak with Avatar Roku is at sunset on the solstice, when the spirit world most closely overlies our own. I knew you would not forget."

"What about the other sages?"  

"Never mind that," Aang cuts in urgently. "How do we get into the sanctuary? It must be nearly sunset by now."

Shyu looks grave. "The five seals must be lit by firebending at the same time to unlock the doors," he explains. "However, I fear this may not be possible. The other sages have strayed from the teachings of our forefathers and have forsworn the Avatar. They now only follow the Fire Lord's bidding. and if they knew you were here, Prince Zuko, they would surely betray you to him."

Zuko's heart sinks. They can't get in without the other sages' help, but if they miss this opportunity, the next solstice won't be for six months… by which time it'll be too late.

"So you just need five simultaneous fire blasts?" Aang is evidently thinking hard. Shyu nods. "Well then, you don’t need five firebenders. You only need two."

"…Aang, I think your math needs a little work."

"No, listen! You each have two hands, and Zuko, you also have your breath of fire, so between the two of you, you have the capacity to produce five simultaneous fire blasts. Wouldn’t that work?"

"I suppose…" Shyu says dubiously. "The only question is whether each fire blast will be strong enough to ignite the seals. Typically, one fire blast burns stronger than two separate ones because there is no division of energy between your two hands."

"But that's where it's handy to have an airbender," Zuko says, quickly catching on. "Fire burns hotter under conditions of increased oxygen pressure."

"Bingo."

"That… might actually work." Shyu still sounds a little too doubtful for Aang's liking, but whatever, as long as he's on board with the plan.

"Then let's do it."

They assume their places, Shyu and Zuko standing in front of the doors, Aang crouched next to them. With long, circular strokes, he starts to compress the air before the seals to broaden the incoming fire.

"On three," Zuko says. "One…"

"Two…"

"Three!"

Aang ducks clear as five streams of fire hit the sphere of air and ignite the seals. The sparks are not quite done flying when they hear the groaning of massive hinges. The serpentine seals begin to unwind themselves, and slowly, the door creaks open.

~~~

**AANG**

"I'm going in," Zuko says resolutely; it's clear that he means to do so alone.

"Okay. Um… I'll keep watch out here. Good luck!"

For some inexplicable reason, Aang feels nervous as he watches Zuko disappear into the sanctuary, back straight, a solitary figure facing the unknown. The doors ease shut behind him.

Shyu looks completely at peace, hands folded together as if in meditation, as if they haven't just let the Avatar go into a dark room where who knows what he will encounter. _What if Roku's spirit is… corrupted by time or evil, and Zuko gets possessed by him and becomes a dark Avatar or something?_ He paces moderately before the doors. It's wildly illogical, he knows, but not outside the realm of possibility.

"Don’t worry about him. He will be fine," Shyu consoles him. "He has just gone to receive the wisdom of generations past, nothing more."

"I know." _So why am I feeling this ridiculous… separation anxiety? For Laghima's sake…_

"You said you told Zuko about the sanctuary of Avatar Roku and how he's only available on the solstice." Something occurs to him: "Did you know, when you met him, that he was the Avatar?"

Shyu considers his answer with ponderous care. "Not as such," he hedges. "Truly, this turn of the cycle has no precedent in known history. Never has the Avatar been one of two twins, nor the direct descendant of a recent predecessor. We were unsure in all aspects: whether the Avatar spirit would coalesce in one twin, how soon it would localize, and even whether it was possible for both twins to manifest its power. Normally, it is possible to tell by late childhood whether a child is the Avatar reborn. Allegedly, the elders of the Air Nomads could tell soon after birth by presenting an infant with various toys, some of which were relics of past lives."

 _Interesting._ The irony doesn’t miss Aang, that he's learning more and more about his own people while living in the very nation that wiped them out. "I wonder if it would have changed things, if Zuko had known early on who he was."

"That, I cannot say for sure. Fire Lord Ozai certainly remained convinced for the longest time that his daughter Azula was the Avatar, refusing to accept the truth until it was staring him in the face. It might not have made a difference if we told him earlier on."

"Fire Lord Ozai thought Azula was the Avatar? But that doesn’t make any sense—she wouldn’t have been able to bend the other elements."

"Any delusion, so long as it is pleasant enough, may persist in spite of reality." Shyu shakes his head grimly.

~~~

**ZUKO**

It's almost time, he can feel it. A solitary ray of sunshine dips in from the ceiling, and it's close, so close to the sun stone that marks the exact point of the winter solstice. Roku's statue remains stone still, and his heart beats all the faster with each passing second. Oddly, the most absurd thoughts pass through his mind in those last few moments. _Should I call him great-grandfather? Or just Avatar Roku? Oh no, what if he asks about my grandparents from Mom's side? I don’t even know their names or where they are now._

The light touches the sun stone, its red glint illuminating the sanctuary, and he feels a suffuse glow surrounding him and Roku's statue, blinding him until it fades, and he opens his eyes again. It's him, the old man wearing a familiar coronet from his first vision of the past Avatars, before he knew his own destiny.

"Zuko."

"Avatar Roku," Zuko manages to greet him. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I always wondered whom my great-grandchildren would resemble more: myself or Ta Min," Roku says, considering his great-grandson with an appraising look. They are in spirit form, not the physical world, but he still strokes his beard thoughtfully out of habit, though the texture is likely lacking.

Blindsided, Zuko blinks. "Um."

"But now I see that you actually look the most like my dear friend Sozin."

_What._

"Your… friend? Fire Lord Sozin?" Zuko would never say he excelled in history lessons back with Azula and their court tutors, but he certainly would have made a note of it if their texts had mentioned Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku being anything other than sovereign and subject.

"Indeed." Roku gives pause at his confused expression. "Ah, but you didn’t know. Our relationship became a little strained ever since I refused to abet his efforts to take over the world. Let me show you how it all began."

ZZZ

They look down from the lip of the raging volcano at Roku's memory-self gasping his last breaths, his faithful dragon curled around him, and Zuko realizes this must have been before Sozin began hunting the species to extinction.

This was before a lot of things besides that, and now he is living out the broken aftermath. He turns his back on the damning scene and begins to walk down the slope of the volcano, the memories around them dissolving until they once again reside in the unembodied state of the spirit plane. As if reading his thoughts, Roku sighs apologetically.

"That was the beginning of your troubles today, and the struggles of every Avatar that separates us. If I had been more decisive back then, if I had stopped Sozin before he embarked on his conquest… who knows what the world would be like today? But I could not. You saw how we grew up together, just like siblings. Yet our paths strayed from each other so drastically, so early in life."

"Sounds familiar." History repeats itself, year after year, and he and Azula are no exception.

"You did not ask to be born the Avatar, Zuko, the scion of two rotten branches grafted to each other. I am sorry, dear child, for leaving this to you."

He swallows back a thick knot of bitterness threatening to make its way into his voice. It's nothing that he hasn't thought before, but he has to move past this in order to focus on what needs doing.

"Great-grandfather… I need your help. Sozin's Comet is set to return this summer, and my father plans to defeat the rest of the Earth Kingdom under its power. Even though I have waterbending and airbending teachers, I’m still so far from mastering the elements, let alone the Avatar State. I have to stop him, but how?"

Roku looks at him levelly. "Just as you said. You need to master the elements and the Avatar State. A tall order, but you have done it before."

 _…I have…??_   

The old Avatar smiles at his misunderstanding, but doesn’t elaborate. "A guru of the Northern Air Temple still lives, a spiritual brother of the Air Nomads. He is wise in the old ways of meditation, and he will be able to help you control the Avatar State. It is essential that you master this technique to maximize your powers as the Avatar."

 _Finally, something helpful!_ "Northern Air Temple, wise old guru, okay. But, my father… I'm going to have to… to…"

"You will have to do what I wasn't able to do," Roku summarizes succinctly. "Kill him."

A knee-jerk response jolts through Zuko, of fear and shock at hearing it said so plainly. The sky around them turns dark and grey, as if someone had ignited storm clouds in response to his emotions. He knows that there isn't much Roku can offer him in this regard, that he came here today to ask for an alternate solution without any hope of an answer. And yet it feels so coarse and callow as the Avatar, to have to resort to that most violent act.

Roku shakes his head, seeing his hesitation. "You must be decisive, Zuko. Your actions represent not just yourself, but the fate of all the world. Cut your ties to those whom you no longer consider your blood, but reconcile yourself with those who can still be saved."

"Those who can still be saved." _Does he mean…?_

"I wonder who your sister takes after?" Roku asks, whimsical.

"There's no way Azula will help me." Zuko laughs bitterly. "She's wanted to be Fire Lord for years, and she couldn’t have been happier when I was banished. She would never betray our father."

"You are not her; you do not know that."

Zuko lets it go. Maybe Avatar Roku's wisdom has been curdled by long years of wishing to see his great-grandchildren. Well, he's had his chance.

"The solstice is nearly over. I do not have much more time with you, but the traitorous sages have arrived at the sanctuary." Roku sounds profoundly displeased. "I can help you. Though you cannot yet control the Avatar State, that does not mean you cannot use it at will."

"Nope, not doing that." Zuko holds up a hand. Never mind that he's disrespecting his ancestor, but he will not use the Avatar State to eliminate four old men who are probably too scared of his father to stand up to him. "I'll take care of them myself."

"Hm." His great-grandfather looks affronted, but also strangely approving. "Very well. It is your decision to make."

Zuko bows his head. "Goodbye, Avatar Roku."

The sun dips below the horizon, the red stone loses its gleam. The shadow of Roku dissolves from before him, and he stands once more in the dark chamber. Outside, it sounds like Aang and Shyu have the upper hand over the other sages.

Roku really wasn't what he expected in terms of resolving the quandaries of the present. If it were all really as simple as killing his father, then he would do it in a heartbeat.

_Would I really?_

It is the kind of question one cannot answer until confronted head-on, and even then…

_You must be decisive._

Okay. Decision number one: get out of this place alive and intact.

Decision number two: go on a date with Aang, because it's the solstice and there’s no reason not to. Plus, he’s tired of being the Avatar. He can take one night off without feeling guilty.

Maybe Aang was onto something with the secret tunnel theory.

ZZZ

Part one works out fine. It turns out that only the Avatar can open the doors from the inside, even though the sages can open it together from without. It takes some effort, but Aang's miniature tornado form (there's probably a fancier term for the technique) proves highly effective in closed quarters, and the hapless Fire Sages end up flattened in a dizzy pile inside the sanctuary, which seals itself not a moment too soon.

"Oh dear," Shyu says, not sounding at all regretful. "Not to worry, though; our brothers at the branch temples should be able to let them out if I send them a message tonight."

"How long will that take?" Aang asks.

"A day and a half at most; they’re not too far. I hope their bladders aren't too full."

Of all the sages to remain loyal to the Avatar, Zuko is grateful it was Shyu, if only for his sense of humor. "What will you do now? You can't stay here after all that."

"If the sages of the Fire Nation will not heed the Avatar, then I must turn to those of the Earth Kingdom," Shyu declares grandly. "Though our nations are at war, there will surely be those who are willing to cross the bridge you are trying to build, Avatar Zuko."

"Good luck with that." Privately, Zuko is more pessimistic.

"And the two of you? Where will fate take you next?"

Aang looks to Zuko for their course. "Well, fate is going to take us to the village of Kanto on the next island to enjoy their solstice fireworks show. I think I need a break from being the Avatar, if only for one night."

Shyu's slow nod of bemusement is countered only by Aang's rapidly blossoming smile at the thought of going somewhere excitingly new. "As you will, Avatar. Though do take care not to lose too much time. Roku's error lay in leaving behind his duties altogether and letting Sozin become the tyrant that he was."

"Don’t worry," Zuko promises. "I won't lose track of the time."

ZZZ

"What do you mean, you don’t sell fireworks anymore? What else are you supposed to sell?"

He’s not normally one to be short-tempered with vendors, but this is unreal. The square-jawed, grumpy-looking man running what Zuko refuses to believe _used_ to be the fireworks stand shakes his head stalwartly. "Fireworks have been _banned,"_ he says extra slowly, in case Zuko doesn’t understand. "We don’t sell firecrackers or any products containing gunpowder."

"But why?" Zuko is about ready to tear his hair out. "The solstice fireworks show in Kanto used to be the best in the islands! Why would they ban it?"

" _Because_ all gunpowder-producing precincts have been requisitioned to make ammunition for the war in the Earth Kingdom. No fireworks means more cannon fodder to knock those mud-folk out." The man pah's derisively. "It's been this way since seven years ago. Where were you, sleeping under a rock?"

 _No, safely sheltered in the palace where my only news about the war came from Lu Ten every two months._ So this is the regime his father enforced, reaching even to far-flung Kanto in the northeasterly islands.

"If you want spicy peanut buns, I have those," the merchant offers gruffly, perhaps trying to console him, perhaps only wanting to get rid of this overly belligerent, sadly misinformed customer.

"I'll pass." He walks away to rejoin Aang, who's examining some miniature statues at another festive stand. He resists the urge to stamp his feet childishly; this is the only reason they even came to the village. "No luck. I can't believe this. Surely the imperial coffers aren't so dry that the military can't produce its own gunpowder?"

"Maybe ask your father at the next war meeting?" Aang suggests offhandedly. At Zuko's sudden silence, he looks up and frowns. "Too soon? I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

"No, no, it's…" He gestures at the carved statue Aang's holding. Under the torchlight of the festival, it's clearly a likeness of Fire Lord Ozai. "Didn’t expect to see a familiar face here."

"Oh." Aang studies the Fire Lord's solemn, rather pinched countenance and grins. "I see the resemblance."

"Shut up, you.” He turns away in mock irritation. "Besides, Roku said I look like Sozin."

Aang cocks his head in curiosity. "Yeah, you wanna tell me what that was all about? Did you learn anything from Roku, or did we just go on a day trip to a rock in the middle of the ocean and leave the Fire Sages stranded?"

"He wasn't that helpful," Zuko mutters, tracing the grain of the wooden statue display and thinking sourly about his predecessor. "He said things… I don’t know. Would you understand if I said I didn’t want to talk about it for a bit?"

It sounds cowardly, running from what he must face, but Aang nods quietly, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it's alright. I mean, Roku might have a different perspective on how to handle all this, but he's not the Avatar now. You are, and I know you'll figure out how to handle his advice eventually."

 _Must you always be so utterly wise and serene and perfect?_ Zuko wonders. He takes the hand on his arm in a brief, fond grasp, determined to look anywhere but at Aang and his lovely, understanding face which is the undoing of all sense and sensibility.

"I still think you look like him," Aang persists. "You always look just like this when you're trying to be serious. I call it your Guru Zuko face."

"Seriously, grow up, Aang."

"If you could see your own face, you'd agree with me."

"Well, you're entitled to your opinion," Zuko gives in. As an afterthought, "Emphasis there on _entitled."_

"You _brat!"_  Aang laughs lightly and puts the statue down, moving on. "Anyways, I bet we can find someone who'll sell us fireworks under the table, as it were. You just have to look in the right places."

"Should I ask how you know where these places are?"

Aang winks, and Zuko feels his heart skip a beat or two. "What you don’t know won't hurt you."

ZZZ

Zuko learns that what he doesn’t know will hurt him anyways, or at least get him in trouble with the law. It turns out that the best place to find illegal fireworks smuggled from the army's factories is in the shadowy side alleys just west of town center. He also learns that haggling extensively over illegal fireworks is not the best idea, because that leaves enough time for the local sheriffs to catch up to the smugglers and give chase to him and Aang, suspected accomplices.

"Why didn’t you just accept their offer of seven firecrackers for four gold coins?" His partner in crime yells over his shoulder as Zuko follows him down a cramped alleyway that's no more than a glorified gutter, the enraged sheriffs no more than ten paces behind.

"That's a great offer, if you're okay with not eating for the next week! Of course I wasn't going to take that." He kicks over a barrel full of—something, he can't see too well in the dark—to block their pursuers' path. An earthy odor wafts out—fish heads, probably. It doesn’t do much to slow them down, though.

"Uh, Zuko… we might be out of luck," Aang reports, and Zuko swivels back around to face the fore, only to see what he’s referring to.

"Monkey feathers, you should've let me lead. At least I'm somewhat familiar with these streets." He curses their bad luck at running into a dead end with the remainder of the village law enforcement at the end of the alley.

"What, from all the time you and Lu Ten _didn’t_ spend running around the streets stealing fireworks years ago? Very helpful, I'll keep that in mind the next time we're evading the authorities in a strange land."

The sheriffs advance, and their leader, a thin woman—menacingly so, her wrists are like razor blades—lights a fire to better see the prey they've caught.

"Who dares disrupt the peace on the solstice festival?" she demands, voice rusty like a crow's. "You're clearly not from around here. Our citizens know better than to defy the law by buying illicit firecrackers."

"Actually, we didn’t buy any firecrackers, we were just looking," Aang maintains, which doesn’t help matters at all. "This is a minor misunderstanding, nothing to worry about. I'm sure you good policemen—er," he squints around at the officers surrounding them and corrects himself, "policewomen, sorry—I'm sure you're all more needed for security at the festivities in town center, so maybe we can just call it quits and move on…?"

He really has to applaud Aang for trying under the circumstances, but the Fire Nation domestic forces are well trained, courtesy of his father's militaristic regime, once again, and they're not going to get off that easily. "Arrest them!" the head sheriff commands, and her subordinates move to obey. Zuko tenses, and Aang at his back does the same; they've really had enough conflict for one day, but since it can't be avoided…

Suddenly, the soft plucked melody of a lute drifts over their heads, seemingly out of nowhere, and even though the scene is rife with chaos and noise, its song pierces directly through the commotion to their ears. The tune is familiar to Zuko, and probably to everyone present, at least anyone who went to school in the Fire Nation (which excludes Aang). Almost against their will, the officers stay their steps and look up for the source of the music. Zuko forces himself not to follow their gaze and seizes the moment when they're distracted.

"Aang!" With a quick nod of his head skywards, he communicates his intent, and Aang grabs him around the waist, bending a swift vortex of air to curl around their feet and lift them onto the roof above the sheriffs' heads, which just happens to be where the perpetrator of their distraction is.

A man with a _liuqin_ sits slouched against the corner of the roof, but he startles upright as they land in front of him.

"Don’t let them get away!" Instantly, police fire follows them through the air, and Zuko blocks it with one hand.

"Who are you?" he asks over his shoulder of their mysterious rescuer. The man doesn’t answer, but rises and stands uncertainly on the roof tiles before them, staring at them, still clutching his _liuqin_ by the neck.

"Zuko, we should run," Aang hisses. "They're probably not too well-versed in aerial combat, but they'll make their way up here sooner or later."

"Mm." Zuko holds their fire off for a moment, then returns it with his own. "Grab him for me and make for the eastern outskirts." They'll be out of the village jurisdiction faster that way.

"What? Why's this guy get to tag along?"

The man in question also looks like he's wondering this, but the urgency of the situation spurs Zuko on. "Come on!"

"Okay, okay. Hold on, mister." Aang locks his arms around the very surprised man. "Here we go!"

Together, they bound over the rooftops, clearing the gaps by airbending the currents, although Zuko does fall back on firebending to propel himself several times, not trusting his full weight to his uncultivated airbending. The police brigade are several blocks behind them by the time they reach the outskirts, but they're not safe until they find someplace to hide.

The man whom they essentially kidnapped, now that he thinks about it, has been silent all the while, but as soon as they touch the ground, he tugs on Zuko's arm and points in the direction beyond the village limits.

"What is it?" Zuko follows his indication but sees nothing of import. He looks back, confused, at the man, who points at his own throat and shakes his head vigorously.

"You can't speak." Okay, time for guesswork. "What are you trying to show us? Somewhere we can take cover?"

He nods, making an awning shape with his hands. "Your house?"

Another nod. "How far?" Aang asks.

Two fingers. "Two miles?"

"Should be fine if we start running now," Zuko estimates.

"There they are!" the voice of the sheriff rings out, and _oh spirits have we not had enough to deal with tonight why can't they go chase the actual smugglers instead_ —

They start running.

ZZZ

The house they arrive at is a small, one-room affair, neatly kept but bare of any comforts. The only décor in the place comes in the form of several musical instruments hanging from beams and leaning against the wall, including an _erhu,_ three varieties of lute, a tsungi horn, a couple flutes, transverse and vertical, and a set of gongs next to the door.

The plethora of instruments stirs Zuko's memory, and he turns to the man. "Your _liuqin_ ," he starts, but the man spreads empty hands in a placating gesture, indicating no regrets for the instrument he dropped along the way. _It's nothing._

He looks at the man, not having had an opportunity to observe him due to the close (but thrilling) chase they've just escaped. His eyes are deep-set and tired-looking, and the gauntness of his jawbone pushing itself to the fore suggests he hasn't always looked that way, but is laboring under some long-held grief. 

"What's your name, mister? I'd thank you for giving us a hand back there, but it's weird not knowing what to call you first," Aang says cheerfully, ever the one to smooth over awkward silences.

The man smiles in turn, a meager turn of his pale lips, and shakes his head.

"Ah, secretive, are we? Not to worry. Thank you for helping us, all the same." Aang remains undeterred. "You don’t mind if we camp out here for the night, do you?"

He shakes his head, gestures with one hand— _make yourselves at home._ He himself settles on the floor next to the fireplace, collecting a few scripts that look to be handwritten from the only table in the house. Granted, there isn't much home here to be enjoyed, but Aang makes do, tossing their packs on a corner of the floor that looks a little softer than the rest (mostly just him trying to comfort himself).

"Well, I'm dead on my feet from all this running and jumping and carrying people around," he announces. "It's lights out for me. Zuko?"

The assumption is that Zuko will join him, which on a normal day isn't an erroneous one. But tonight…

"You go ahead."

Aang nods with only the slightest hesitation, and soon the sound of his even breathing reassures Zuko that he is asleep.

ZZZ

"Do you mind if I…?"

The man nods at Zuko as he gestures towards the tsungi horn hanging on the wall. He knows Lu Ten would probably scold him for messing around in a stranger's house, but it's been a while since he's had the chance to play.

He sticks to gentle, soothing tunes to avoid rousing Aang, who certainly doesn’t need a lullaby at this point. The tsungi horn's tones are ideally suited for this muted playing. His cousin had always preferred the lute when they played together, specifically _liuqin_ , taking after Uncle Iroh in that sense. He wonders what the stranger's favorite is, if he has one, among all these choices. He must be a very accomplished musician to have such a versatile range of instruments.

He wanders through a smattering of short etudes, while his only conscious audience remains motionless, reading under the firelight, flipping a page at a time almost soundlessly. Hopefully Zuko's less-than-professional tinkering doesn’t bother him too much.

He forgets about the time, about sleeping, about where he is, transported back through the years to the days he spent with his cousin. The subconscious part of him that remains rooted in reality knows that it's because he's back in this place that he only ever visited with Lu Ten. Still, another part whispers that it's more than that. It's this happenstance encounter that has shaken him so, and as he plays on, he watches the stranger's eyes slide away from his texts and rest, unseeing, in the distance. Diverted from the present space and time, just like Zuko's own thoughts.

He realizes what song he has drifted into unknowingly, the same one that broke their impasse against the police standoff earlier this evening: _Leaves from the Vine_ , a classic. The stranger realizes it, too, and turns to watch him quietly.

Zuko puts the horn down, motivated by some strange impulse to figure out why he seems so familiar, where they may have walked together, in life or in dreams. He rises and walks over to sit in front of the man, who gathers up his papers and puts them aside, devoting his full attention to a conversation Zuko isn't even sure how to begin.

"Why did you help us?" he asks, not accusingly, but simply incapable of understanding. The police were well within their rights to arrest them according to the law, not that he agrees with the law, but he has to admit they were only doing their job. Why then, did he interfere?

The man shrugs, cocks his head in a way that suggests: _why does anyone do anything?_

"Who are you?"

He knows it is a bit more complicated to answer than a yes-or-no question for someone who cannot speak. There's something about him and the way he looks at Zuko as if they are not strangers that piques his curiosity and fuels a need to know—what secrets are locked away here?

A patina of grey ash lines the bottom of the hearth from all the wood burned up throughout the night, and he scoops out a handful to scatter on the floor between them, fine dust rising up in a small cloud and making him cough a little. The man watches intently as he carefully shapes the ashes into a smooth layer. He seems to understand Zuko's meaning and lifts the hearth tongs from his side, using one blunt tip to trace thin outlines in the canvas of ash before him.

_Hanyu_

Hanyu—cold rain. A strange name, but it's not exactly what he wants to know.

"Do you know who I am?" He can't think of why else Hanyu would have helped them.

He turns unreadable eyes on Zuko, their amber gleam only half-visible in the light from the fading embers.

_Little brother_

He lifts his gaze in shock to the stranger who just called him little brother. No one ever calls him that; no one has the right. And yet…

He struggles not to let his voice shake. "The last person who said that to me passed away five years ago. Do you know who he was?"

 _Azure Dragon of the East_

His cousin's unofficial title as commander of one of the Fire Nation's most skilled, war-worthy regiments. It is no coincidence, then.

"You knew him?"

A grave nod.

"How did he die? I was eleven, no one would tell me the details… where he fell, why no one was able to help him. Whether his death was avenged," Zuko presses on desperately. Five years pushing down the lid on his grief, and yet now, everything bubbles to the surface without control, threatening to gush everywhere. "Please, you must tell me."

He shuffles closer to Hanyu, reaching out a supplicatory hand, but the other man looks unspeakably exhausted all of a sudden, closing his eyes and letting the tongs rest lengthwise across his lap.

Zuko has so many questions, but the man before him seems all the less inclined to answer them, and he wonders, if he could probe that silent heart—would it spill forth the same grief he's been harboring for too long?

Hanyu raises his head at length and takes up his implement again to write: _Betrayal._

Fury lances through Zuko at the singular phrase: who would dare betray Lu Ten?

Hanyu clears his throat, not with the intention of speaking, but to capture Zuko's attention once more. He watches as the other man etches his answer in the ashes, a fitting place for his testament of the dead. A somber concentration drifts over his features like clouds, as if he struggles to remember the chilling events of years past, unwilling to forget. His long hair drifts into his eyes, but he does not brush it aside, writing on steadily like the words are embedded in his mind, written over and over again on his heart.

_One among us served another. Following seditious orders, he schemed to end Lu Ten's life multiple times. In the last battle, my lord was fatally injured. I tried to keep him comfortable and lead the enemy away from him, but our forces were too few to even gather and safely retreat to the main host. We were powerless before the onslaught of the Earth Kingdom._

He can't be much older than Zuko, around the same age as Lu Ten would be today, but every word he inscribes seems to weigh him down like time's insouciant ravages, accelerated in a matter of moments. Zuko reads along, and the gasping embers beside them shed their twilight glow on a tale so harrowing that he has to close his eyes against hot tears.

Hanyu smooths over the ashes and spreads them anew into another blank sheet.

_Where his body rests, I do not know. The dead were as the sea before us, tides and tides of them snuffed out too soon. I saw no reason to remain and fight when Lu Ten was dead. General Iroh was lost to grief and abandoned the war to lesser generals. He took a number of soldiers from his command, and I hid aboard their ship, returning here at last with less love for life than I departed with._

"So you weren't with him in his final moments. You didn’t hear his last words and wishes."

Hanyu bows his head, hands in his lap, not stirring to defend himself, and Zuko counters himself rapidly. "I didn’t mean… you were trying to save him, to draw the fire towards yourself instead. You did what you could."

_Insufficient._

Zuko shakes his head. He recalls thinking, back when he received the news of Lu Ten's death, how angry he was with those unknown men who served his cousin, who were tasked with protecting him but failed. He is older now: he has seen how easy it is to kill, and how hard it is to survive. Who lives and who dies remains the whim of the universe, and none can defy it.

He sits up straighter and regards Hanyu, who blinks slowly at this change and frowns.

"Fate has blessed me with our meeting, so long after we both lost one so dear to us. You risked your life to protect my cousin and to help us, and for that, I thank you." He places his hands together, left hand over right fist, and extending the circle of his arms, bows low over his knees in respect towards Hanyu.

A moment of quietude, the embers popping in the fireplace, then an unsteady intake of breath above him as Hanyu takes him by the wrists, lifting his hands and raising him from his prostrate position. There is no reproach in his movements, but rather a deep-seated familiarity, as if he has often been confronted by such declarations.

They sit quietly for the time it takes for the sun to have an inkling of rising; whether it will follow through on that decision remains to be seen. Zuko can hear the blankets in the corner rustling, signaling Aang's slow awakening, and soon they must depart. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"What were you to him?"

Hanyu tenses, his features guarded at the unexpected question.

"You called me little brother, as if we were the same flesh and blood. You called him by name, even though your brothers-in-arms, may they rest in peace, would have called him by his rank. He was obviously close to your heart. What were you to him?"

Almost reflexively, Hanyu glances at the corner where Aang sleeps, then looks away quickly, refusing to respond. Instead, he brushes the ashes back into the fireplace with the flat edge of the tongs, signaling the end of their conversation.

Zuko does not press him for an answer, knowing what it is like to be uncomfortable with sharing certain parts of his past. The sun still rises.

ZZZ

They leave as quietly as they came, the village now slumbering peacefully in the dawn. He hopes the police don’t make the connection via the discarded _liuqin_ and arrive on Hanyu's doorstep.

"Back to Shujing?" Aang asks as they leave Kanto behind.

"Mm." It's time to rejoin their friends and move forward.

He drowses on a rocky ferry ride back to Piandao's island. The air is a little too cold to let him properly drift off into sleep, and he watches the sea churn and bubble in their wake.

_What were you to him?_

It is in this half-awake state that the answer comes to him. He lurches out of his dream trance, cursing himself for not having realized it sooner. Aang makes a querying noise beside him, but he shakes his head, subsiding again.

Life goes on even when those whom they love do not. They have all learned this the hard way, and he is not about to forget.

~~~

**AANG**

The rolling hills outside Shujing welcome them, and they'll be reunited with Sokka and Toph tomorrow, as well as the illustrious Master Piandao, of whom Zuko speaks highly. Aang wonders how much he'll be able to help them, but they won't know unless they try.

Talking with Hanyu all night and then traveling all day hasn't done wonders for Zuko's energy levels, small wonder, and Aang takes advantage of this by offering to be his pillow. He lies wedged between Aang's knees, back to his chest, resting his weight on his torso, as comfortable as can be.

"I gave Hanyu your dragon," Zuko reports, his voice thick with sleep-longing. "Please don’t be mad at me."

Aang tries to figure out why he would think that. Ah. "No, I'm not," he says truthfully. "You told me what Hanyu did for Lu Ten, and why he did it. It was yours to give, and he deserved it."

"Why did you make it a blue dragon?" Zuko asks. "I never told you about Lu Ten's nickname before today. I thought you would have made a red one, if you were going for the most stereotypical Fire Nation symbol."

He considers his reasons. "I guess blue was for waterbending, which you were mastering at the time. It also reminded me of the mask you wore when rescuing me from Zhao."

"The Blue Spirit mask?"

"Yes. Even though I knew it was you, you had such an air of mystery and intrigue… I thought you were very dashing."

" _That's_ what you were thinking, even while we were an inch from death the whole time?"

"Mm. If we were going to die, I wanted my last thoughts to be worthwhile, which your dashingness certainly was."

"Oh, spirits, you're ridiculous. Remind me why I put up with you?"

"Probably because I'm so comfortable to sleep with. Here, sit up a moment, let me get something."

Zuko rolls off him with a miserly grumble, and he gets up, going over to his knapsack and riffling around to retrieve—

"Firecrackers?" Zuko gasps, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. "You actually—!"

"Yep," Aang admits proudly. "They're small, and I only got a few, so they won't notice we skimmed the fat just a bit." He gathers up the firecrackers he'd sniped while Zuko was arguing with the smugglers. "Help me light them!"

Instead of planting them on the ground, he tosses them skywards, and Zuko is on his feet in an instant, shooting brief flicks of fire to ignite the airborne firecrackers. They explode in a flurry of red and gold sparks, radiating outwards like rain, one after another. One of them is special, though, the pattern of its sparks forming the strokes of a unique character.

"Why did you get the one for marriage?" Zuko asks as the last sparks fade from the sky and Aang walks back to his side.

"What? That says marriage? I thought it was for double happiness." He feigns innocence.

"Well, technically it does… oh, forget it." Zuko smiles. “Hopefully no one saw that. It would be awkward if they came looking for a wedding celebration and found none.”

Aang laughs and tugs him down to the ground again, resuming their positions from earlier. He can feel his own heart beating, its pulse rapid and strong from the excitement of the fireworks, but even as they lie there resting, it doesn’t slow down. Zuko must feel it too, because he tilts his head upwards to frown at him.

"Aang?"

He tightens his arms around Zuko's waist, inadvertently cutting him off, and hooks his chin over Zuko's left shoulder, his voice a whisper clear and strong, because there can be no doubt about his intentions tonight.

"Zuko… if there's something you want… ask for it."

He knows what Zuko is thinking, because he is thinking the same thing about Zuko: _after everything you've given me, without complaint, without conditions… how could I possibly ask for more?_

But why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t they? If it's what they both want… and it is, of course it is, because even as he waits, Zuko turns his head slightly to the side—Aang is already halfway there—and says, "Kiss me."

Aang does.

It has been a long time coming, so they do not rush. Slowly, their lips meet like molten glass, melting together so willingly to be as one. Zuko twists more fully against him to push his whole body into the kiss. As their lips part, Aang lets himself be lost, in Zuko's mouth, in his arms looping around his neck, in his warmth and vitality and everything about him. He traces the taper of his smooth chin, wanders over his jawline, up to the dimple of his temples—these are all things he has touched before, and handling them now… feels no different. Because they have been burning for each other for so long, this realization is only the natural zenith of their long journey uphill.

"Aang," Zuko whispers in wonder against his lips as they pause, spoiled for any other words. "Oh, Aang."

"That was exactly how I imagined our first kiss." He pauses, then amends, "Well, the first kiss you were awake for."

He savors Zuko's adorably puzzled look, eyes liquid honey and pupils wide and unfathomable.

"There was the one while you were sleeping, the morning before we left Hira'a. And then the day we met, when you were drowning—your airway was filled with water, so you couldn’t breathe, so I cleared it out with air and then you vomited seawater all over me."

Zuko blushes and buries his face in Aang's neck, embarrassed at the memory. "That doesn’t count," he mutters indistinctly. "You've got to change this bad habit of kissing me when I'm not awake to enjoy it."

Aang smiles, feeling him pouting against his neck. "Third time's the charm."

"Can't take any risks. Kiss me again," Zuko demands.

So Aang does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should clarify for the larger portion of readers: there's a lot here that ties in to _brave enough to die_ , my Lu Ten side fic which has insidiously become a story in its own right (I did not intend for that to happen in the beginning). So possible points of confusion, but I will try to clarify in my writing notes (linked below). Actually I would recommend anyone read them this time around because of all the random references I'm pulling. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Honestly I wouldn’t still be writing this if it weren't for all your support, because it is a huge endeavor that takes more time than it sometimes seems worth… x_x
> 
> [Writing Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/29291379)


	8. The Puppetmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die." - Herbert Hoover 
> 
> Azula and Zuko both start to lay their plans for the future.

**AZULA**

Winter has finally arrived, though it never gets too cold this close to the equator. Azula follows the candlelit walkways of the nighttime palace absently, having finished training with her father for the day. He's been cautiously pleased with her of late, remarking that her firebending is improving slowly but surely. Today, she managed to consistently summon lightning every time she tried, though her control falters at times.

 _One hair out of place isn't good enough,_ she reminds herself. _The appearance of control is crucial._ And she has to give that to her father, make him believe that everything is going just as he's planned until the last possible moment. He wants to be the one who pulls her strings, and she will let him do that, at least until she cuts the strings and begins to move on her own. It's only a question of _how._

Strolling the hallways helps her think, so she takes the long way back to her rooms, thinking on the question all the while. Soon her father will ship her off to the Earth Kingdom with a crew of useless Navy lugs in search of Zuko. As long as she goes willingly, their defenses will be down, and she can ditch them as soon as they reach land, or even earlier.

Zuko's reaction to seeing her again is something she can't predict, which bothers her. Just from hearsay, he's changed so much. He's no longer the timid turtle-duckling who couldn’t even muster the courage to face their father in an Agni Kai. He's capable of defying the Fire Lord outright now, dispatching Commander Zhao with ease, and if he believes Azula to be their father's proxy, he might not be so interested in anything she has to say.

That's where one hapless earthbender comes into play. With him on her side, she's less suspect and more likely to be an ally. But here again emerges her question. Father plans to keep Haru here as a hostage to ensure her good behavior (and she hates the fact that it will work). It remains to be seen: how can she remove Haru from the picture?

She raises her eyes from the path before her where they'd been fixed in absent reverie, hearing the tinkling sound of metal nearby. Two servant girls come through the archway of one of the more secluded palace complexes and start in her direction, their gold hair ornaments ringing like bells in contrast to their muted footsteps. They meet her gaze with surprise before bowing their heads low and curtsying. "Princess."

Azula rarely visits this part of the grounds; it strays uncomfortably close to her mother's wing, which had been sealed off after she was banished. She eyes one of the servant girls cowering behind the other and recognizes her as one that she had removed from her personal retinue a few months ago for getting Azula's hairbrush so hopelessly tangled that she had to cut several precious strands off. That was the last she'd seen of the poor girl, good riddance.

"Why, Onji, I didn’t know you were still here doing… whatever you were just doing," she says condescendingly, but also slightly curious. Her mother's palace no longer houses anyone, so why would any servants be assigned to its upkeep?

"Forgive me, Princess, we were…" Onji trails off, still terrified of her former mistress.

"We were tending to the greenhouse, as ordered by Head Eunuch Huang," her companion explains. Never having personally served Azula before, she hasn't been properly schooled in fear. "Some of the plants only bloom in the evening, and we had instructions to prune the ones that are no longer flowering."

The greenhouse? Azula knows of no greenhouse in the palace other than the one kept by her mother in years past. Who would still have any use for it?

"I see," she says neutrally. "You may go, then. And there's no need to tell the head eunuch or anyone else about running into me here. Unless, of course, you feel the need to find yourselves cast out of the palace as soon as it's daylight."

"We would never, Princess." Beside her, Onji nods fervently in agreement. The two girls bow hastily and leave as if fleeing evil spirits, their improbable dangling hairpieces glimmering under the candlelight. Azula makes sure they've turned the corner and are really gone, then enters the archway through which she'd seen them coming.

Her mother's turtle-duck pond lies fallow and covered in fallen leaves, no longer dredged to transparency as it would have been long ago. Setting foot here is like stepping, ghostlike, back in time: the bright, clear water of old overlaid on the murky depths of the present; the echoes of Zuko and Mai and Ty Lee playing at sword fighting around the garden perimeter while Azula crossed her arms and pouted from the sidelines; the frightened quack of ducklings as she threw stones at them, and later fire. The turtle-ducks are long gone, and the grass around the pond is wild and coarse, impeding easy movement.

She follows a path cut through the overgrowth, no doubt the way the servants took to get around to the greenhouse, which lies to the western side of the complex. Their mother had never allowed her and Zuko inside, so Azula being Azula had of course sneaked in without her permission but found only boring flowers and vines, and was so dissuaded.

The same boring flowers and vines swarm the glass house, reaching towards the high, domed ceiling, and Azula wonders what makes this place so special, that it should continue to be pruned and weeded unlike the garden outside. It's not difficult to imagine her mother here, her serene eyes lowered to the buds and blooms scattered everywhere, touching the twig of a flowering shrub, its blooms saffron yellow and sweet in their scent, like orange blossoms but… mintier?

Azula squeezes her way past a crowded aisle of trellises hung with woody vines, their leaves shaped like shields, their tendrils trailing down into her eyes. She brushes them aside in irritation and pulls one branch away from her face, letting it snap back with a stiff twang. _Mother would probably tell me to act more lady-like and not destroy the foliage,_ she thinks. _Well, it's too little too late, but let me try._

She plucks a flower at random; it's a little hard to tell what it is in the dark, but under the fire from her palm, it appears to be a… chrysanthemum? She struggles to apply what little she knows of botany, but the beady center of the flower and its petals which radiate in layers outwards seem to resemble the blossoms that used to adorn the bottom of her teacup whenever she caught a cold as a child.

It's also green, she observes, and laughs aloud. What a stupid flower; with green leaves _and_ green blossoms, it might as well camouflage itself into oblivion. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be about the same luminous green hue as Haru's eyes, though this does nothing to improve her opinion of it, she reassures herself.

It's not entirely unpleasant to look at, though, and she secretes the bloom away behind her ear, tucking it into place with a twist of hair.

 _What would Mother do in this situation?_ she asks herself, devoid of other inspiration. For long enough, she has sought to succeed by emulating her father. Even that, now, has failed, so where else can she turn? _How would she protect someone close to her?_

Azula turns the corner of another cramped aisle of tabletop shrubs grouped by color. Under the table rests a cubby with shelves stacked haphazardly, filled with yellowing books and a stray, cracking bamboo scroll or two. These obviously haven't been cherished as much as the plants, and the years have not been kind to them. She lights a candle in a tarnished candelabra on the worktop to see more clearly and picks up a book at random, flipping through the pages without a sense of what she's looking for.

In hindsight, she can intuit what her mother would do: it's just what she did for Zuko when their father planned to kill him. Their mother's banishment and their grandfather's death coincided too closely. Azula knew not to ask questions, but the only conclusion her childhood self could draw was that either her mother knew too much and had to be banished to keep her silence, or she had a hand in what happened behind closed doors, behind Fire Lord Azulon's death.

She thumbs through the pages faster, unfamiliar plants and names flying past, but she's onto something, and of course she would find the answer here, among the memories of the woman whom she called mother, who thought her own daughter was a monster.

She marks her place by folding down the corner of a promising-looking page and tucks the book under one arm to come back to later. The cold outside fogs up the glass of the greenhouse windows slightly, and under somber candlelight, she inspects her reflection in the panes, green chrysanthemum a blur by her ear. It's too muddled to tell whose face it really is.

"Did you ever ask yourself, mother, where monsters come from?"

~~~

**ZUKO**

Fat opens the door as always, long, put-upon expression the first thing to greet them.

"Oh, it's you again," he says, irritated tone suggesting that the last time he'd seen Zuko was just yesterday instead of almost a decade ago.

"Hello to you, too, Fat. Is Master Piandao home?"

Of course he is, where else would he be? Zuko's counting on him.

Fat leads them into Piandao's sitting room, where the master himself, not to mention Sokka, is nowhere to be found. Toph slouches alone on a couch in a patch of sunlight from the window, curled catlike in a drowse. As she hears them approach, she sits up and straightens until her feet hit the ground.

"Finally, you guys are back! I thought I was going to grow old here listening to Sokka whack things with his sword and spout philosophy randomly—" she breaks off without indication, cocking her head in curiosity towards them.

"Uh, hi Toph," Zuko says, uncertain.

"Hi Toph! What's up?” Aang greets. “Why are you staring—er, not-staring at us like that?"

"I suppose congratulations are in order," Toph says meaningfully.

A split second, and Zuko and Aang turn to stare at each other, bemused. "How did you know? We're not even holding hands!" Aang blusters, though there is no reason to panic. It's Toph, after all.

"Well, thanks to your reaction, now I know for sure," Toph says, smugly reassured. "And by congratulations, I meant to congratulate myself. Sokka owes me ten gold coins now."

"I what?" Sokka's flabbergasted voice enters the fray.

"I know you don’t actually have that much money, so you can work it off," Toph offers generously. "I can carry my own weight and all, but it is nice to have other people do things for me for a change."

"What?! You're kidding," Sokka turns to face the two of them, astonishment written all over his features. "You two…?"

"You and Toph placed bets about us getting together?" Zuko gasps, equal parts astounded and scandalized.

"You bet _against_ us getting together?" Aang is supremely distraught at Sokka's lack of faith.

Toph smirks. "And he claims to be a master of strategy."

"Now hang on, I never—"

"Ahem."

Another voice cuts through the mayhem, and behind Sokka enters a man Zuko didn’t think he would ever have the fortune of seeing again.

"Master Piandao." He bows to his old teacher.

"Zuko." At his surprise, Piandao smiles. "Surely you never thought I actually bought the incognito name of Lee? You don’t look like a Lee."

He coughs awkwardly at being caught out. "There are a million Lees, Master."

"Funny, I just told Sokka that, in fact." He turns a calculating eye on their far-flung group: an earthbender, a Water Tribe warrior, an airbender, and the Avatar of the Fire Nation. "Sit, all of you. There are many things to be discussed."

~~~

**PIANDAO**

He's grateful for whatever force united these children and brought them here today. This is not their war alone, not if the White Lotus has anything to say about it.

"Sozin's Comet will arrive in the skies on the first day of summer, six months from now. Our informants in the capital report that Fire Lord Ozai plans to personally lead his fleet of airships to Ba Sing Se and break down the inner wall."

"If the city falls, the Earth Kingdom will fall with it," Zuko says. "My cousin's death bought them five years of peace, but no longer."

General Iroh knows this too, and he will do everything he can to defend the city he failed to defeat, in the memory of his deceased son. "The bulk of our forces must be concentrated at the wall to anticipate the Fire Nation army, which will not be expecting us."

"What if someone tries to stage a coup when His Fieriness leaves his palace to go to war?" Sokka interjects. "The situation in the capital has to be stabilized beforehand so that we don’t end up with a brand-new Fire Lord just after we defeat the old one." 

Piandao nods. The thought has been on their minds as well and is of considerable imperative.

"That sounds like a problem Uncle Iroh would be best suited to dealing with," Zuko says. "My father doesn’t suspect him at all, thinks he's just a washed-up old general who's lost all interest in the direction of the nation. My only worry is that he might entrust my sister Azula with the defense of the city."

"Our sources indicate that the Fire Lord wishes to send her to hunt you down and return you to him, dead or alive," Piandao says gravely. "She is a force to be reckoned with, to say the least."

"Wait, wait, there's a female version of you coming after us?!" Sokka exclaims with no small alarm. "This really throws a wrench in our plans."

"Relax, she's not a second Avatar," Aang reassures. "Although according to Shyu," he turns towards Zuko, "your father actually thought she was, and of course he threw a huge temper tantrum when he found out she wasn't."

Zuko nods, as if the news does not surprise him. "He would."

"In any case," Piandao continues, "Iroh is presently traveling to liaise with fellow White Lotus members in the south and the east, but he will return to the capital in due time. He still wields some power in court, and by recruiting those loyal to him, he hopes to garner enough support to keep the capital under control during the comet's passing, when the whole city will be nearly empty. Azula's presence will have some influence on this plan, but it will not make or break it."

Zuko considers this line of thought seriously. It's not perfect, as things rarely are, but it is a potential solution. As he thinks, a wrinkle forms between the ridges of his eyebrows, and Piandao swears the years have shed themselves away until he sees the same face, a decade younger, still wrinkled in concentration, trying to solve some unfathomable question.

Time changes all, and yet nothing at all.

"Finally, there is the question of how to take down the Fire Lord himself." He wishes it were not a question that must be posed to these youths, but the Avatar must have his thoughts on the matter.

Aang looks at Zuko, as if wondering whether he will step up to or away from this unpleasant duty. It seems like something they have discussed before, and a quick look passes between the two of them.

"That will be for me to deal with. But it's still so far in the future that in this moment, I can barely imagine it happening with any certainty,” Zuko says.

"Well, one thing's for sure: Zuko has to become the fully-realized Avatar. Not that I even know what that means," Sokka says.

"It just means he has to finish learning the elements and the Avatar State," Toph explains patiently. "I'm confident he'll succeed, if and _only_ if he has a good teacher."

"What are you trying to say, Toph?" Aang is immediately up in arms, hearing the pointed barb in her words. "In case you forgot, I taught him airbending before you ever came into the picture."

"And I'm sure he's such a pro at it now, well done, you."

"Okay, okay you two, you can fight it out later," Zuko chides fondly, and they subside.

"What about the rest of us?" Sokka asks, determined to cover all points. "What can we do while Aang's trying to one-up Toph?"

 _"Don't feed the fire,"_ Zuko mutters under his breath, and Piandao wonders how it is that he has come to semi-adopt these two such belligerent children as his disciples. Perhaps his nesting instinct is finally rearing its head after decades of a solitary life. But he knows Fat has strong feelings about children and their ilk, so he stifles his smile.

He withdraws a rolled-up map from his sleeve that indicates the White Lotus outposts scattered throughout the lands and hands it to Sokka. "We could always use more warriors on our side. You've all traveled widely, and you know better than I where to find those whose hearts align with our cause."

Sokka unrolls the map, eyes tracking locations rapidly, estimating distances and strategies like second nature. "Yes, I can think of a few. I'll keep in touch with Hawky, but we'll be moving around a lot, so hopefully our messages don’t get scrambled in midair."

"Who's Hawky?" Zuko asks.

"Sokka's new messenger hawk," Toph says, sounding disgusted by his lack of creativity in choosing a name.

"I was _going_ to name it Flippy Flappy Chirp Feathers, but Master Piandao said I should choose something shorter and to the point," Sokka defends his choice.

Everyone: "…"

PPP

He finds Zuko on the west verandah of the castle in the late afternoon, as they are preparing to depart. The dual broadswords slung over his back straighten his posture, making him look as tall and old as his cousin. It occurs to Piandao that he is in fact just as old as that Lu Ten from memories of yesteryear. The boy standing before him is now a young man.

"I see you still keep your swords with you."

"Lu Ten's swords," Zuko corrects him, almost automatically. "Would you like to duel for old time's sake, Master? Or has Sokka worn you out too much?"

"Your disciple-brother, I can handle easily, but I'm a little old to be fighting the Avatar. Though that's only because if I tried, the rest of your band of merry miscreants would be upon me immediately."

He turns toward Piandao, a fond, if minute smile gracing his lips. "True. I have a bad feeling that they would follow me even to death and beyond."

"Perhaps you will meet in the next life, then. They say that fate lasts three lifetimes."

Zuko traces the marble grain of the balcony under his arms sadly. "What if this is our third?"

The sun dips lower over the distant mountains, reddening as it sets gradually. The solstice has passed, and the days are getting longer again, but slowly, only so slowly.

"I am sorry, Zuko." He does not clarify what for, but he thinks that Zuko must know. All the things that have happened since he and Lu Ten left the safety of Piandao's tutelage, things these old souls could not hinder, and these young souls must pay the price.

~~~

**ZUKO**

"All is one, and one is all, Master." Zuko laughs softly as he thinks of how he and Lu Ten once struggled so to decipher the saying. Now it is as plain as day to him. "Everywhere I go and in everyone I meet, I see a little of him."

It's true: Sokka's insecurity and adaptability; Katara's anger and resilience; Aang's unconditional love and support; Toph's stubbornness and (not-so-)occasional flightiness—they are all echoes of the best friend he once had.

"Even strangers stir up memories I thought I had buried for good. As long as the world and those in it exist, he is not truly dead."

Piandao sighs, the regrets of a generation purged in one mournful exhale. "Then you need not take every breath as if it is a tribute to him. Look forward and live on."

Zuko does, and the view from the balcony is that of the sun's bloody rays drowning the skyline in crimson and sanguine.

ZZZ

The streets are dark and deserted by the time they arrive back at the village where they've left Katara and Hama, the full moon above being the only living soul out and about.

"Where is everyone?" Zuko wonders aloud. "I remember the nightlife here being distinctly more vibrant than this."

"That is weird," Sokka agrees. He draws his sword, prematurely on the defensive. "This place is creepy. My instincts are telling me something is very, very wrong here."

"Don't exaggerate," Toph reproves. "Or would you like me to reshape your sword for you?" She cracks her knuckles threateningly.

"You wouldn’t dare."

" _Try me."_

"Guys, let's ask this old man, since there's no one else," Aang suggesting, defusing them somewhat.

Old Man Ding ("I'm young at heart!") is indeed the only person still outside at this hour, busy boarding up his windows as if he's expecting a storm to roll through.

"Every month, during the full moon, I prepare for the worst," he tells them with the air of divulging the secret to life's successes. "You won't catch me again, moon monster!" he shouts, brandishing his fist at the unfeeling moon.

"Uh, what exactly is this moon monster you speak of?" Aang asks.

"Arr, what's it to you young'uns?" he grouses, trying to chop a heavy wooden board into an appropriate length with his hopelessly dull axe. "Trying to fight some monsters and win a claim to fame? Hah!"

Aang raises an eyebrow at Sokka, who takes the hint and relieves Old Man Ding of his axe so that he can sharpen it for him. Cantankerous old men just need a little elbow grease to loosen their tongues.

"Swords and spears won't stop this monster, nor the pleas of sweet little girls," Ding warns. Zuko prays Toph will hold her peace; the old man doesn’t look like he could take a pounding from her. "I was walking through the woods one night, months ago now, just minding my own business. Out of nowhere, I felt something come over me like I was possessed—forced me to start walking toward the mountain!" He points helpfully at the mountain above the village.

"I tried to fight it, but I couldn't control my own limbs. It just about had me into a cave up there. And I looked up at the moon for what I thought would be my last glimpse of light." He reenacts the scene dramatically in the moment, all thought of fixing up his windows forgotten. "But then the sun started to rise, and I got control of myself again! I just high-tailed it away from that mountain as quick as I could!"

"That sounds like an evil spirit," Zuko says faintly. "Only a spirit could enter your body and control your actions like that." Beside him, Aang nods fervently. Sokka stares agape at Old Man Ding, who's clearly never had such an enthralled audience. Only Toph maintains her composure, tugging the axe from Sokka's limp grip and starting to sharpen it with metalbending.

"Eh?! What're you doing now?" Ding exclaims, noticing what she's doing, but Aang hurriedly distracts him again.

"Never mind that. Did you get a good look at the spirit that took you?"

"Didn’t see no spirit." Ding scowls. "Must've caught me from behind, cowardly thing, else I would've punched it between the eye holes, make it crawl back to whatever spirit cave it came from!"

"Oh, I'm sure you would have finished it off right then and there!" Sokka, ever the helpful sycophant, catches the axe that Toph has just finished off and tossed towards its owner carelessly.

"Well of course!" Ding takes his axe back. "Every man's gotta fend for himself, huh? God knows that old Fire Lord won't sent reinforcements to protect us. All he cares about is his damned war. And the Avatar—you'd think this would be right up his alley, but where is he now?"

Zuko can feel everyone physically restraining themselves from turning to look and giving him away. Old Man Ding doesn’t notice, turning back to his work. He sinks his axe deep into a large block of wood, then pauses as something else occurs to him to say.

"Well, if you must know, this particular spirit had a damn weird smell. Kind of like ocean kumquats? Nasty things, dunno who would ever want to eat them."

Sokka looks from Aang to Zuko to Toph and back again, his face grim and determined. "Are you all thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Sokka, it might not be…" Zuko starts and stops. "Just because…"

"Ocean kumquats? Full moon? Creepy waterbending from the shadows?" Sokka argues, voice rising hysterically with each proof. "I know my instincts aren't always right, but—"

"I hear them!" Toph cries, suddenly enough that Ding hits himself in the head in surprise pulling his tightly lodged axe free of the wood.

"Ow, doggone it—"

"It's the same as last time we were here! The people screaming under the mountain, I hear them." Toph grabs Sokka's arm, intent on dragging him with her to find the source. "Come on, let's hurry before they stop again!"

They take off running, and Zuko hesitates a moment, turning back to Old Man Ding. There's an angry lump rising from the center of his forehead where he so clumsily rammed the butt of his axe into his own head.

"Here, let me help you with that," he says, working quickly to uncork his own waterskin and drag a small sum of water from its depths to alleviate the old man's pain. To Ding's astoundment, the painful bruise fades immediately under the soothing press of healing water, and he's left clutching his forehead in wonder.

"What on earth…?"

Zuko smiles. "You should know that the Avatar will always have your back." He turns to go; Aang is waiting for them to go find Hama and put this to an end.

They're halfway down the street when Ding shouts, "Give 'em hell from me! And come back after to help me take down all this rubbish! Don’t you Avatars know better than to leave a job half-done?!"

~~~

**KATARA**

"The moon gives waterbenders our strength," Hama says, arms outstretched towards the full moon above. "Under her light, I've never felt more alive."

 _That makes sense,_ Katara thinks, _since the moon spirit controls the ocean and the tides._ Zuko had shared that tragic story with her, the tale of Princess Yue and her noble sacrifice.

"The greatest technique that I can teach you gives a waterbender utmost control over one's body. You must continue my legacy when I am gone." Under the cold moonlight, Hama looks ghostly and ethereal, frail as if a slight breeze might blow her away, but there is a light in her grey eyes that gleams firmly. "This technique enabled me to escape from prison years ago, and it has served me without parallel ever since."

Katara listens with fascination and shock as Hama describes how she learned to manipulate blood, a gruesome power that incapacitated her guards and allowed her to walk free after decades of confinement.

"After I teach you the technique, you will be the last bloodbender alive… I cannot allow it to die with me."

Katara shivers, partly from the cold and partly from the thought of having that much power over someone. "I guess it would be useful in combat to stop someone from attacking," she concedes. "But it just seems so extreme."

"No less extreme than the measures that have been used against us," Hama counters. "Can you not think of anyone who deserves it? Deserves to die with his heart bursting and his blood dripping from his eyes?"

She can, of course she can.

"The man who killed my mother," she whispers. She can see his face now. "A firebender."

"Even so, Katara. A man with the blackest of hearts deserves to die thus. But can you not think of someone else, someone even closer to you, who deserves the same treatment?"

"Closer?" She frowns, puzzled. "Who else?" But even as she looks up at the moon, she knows, and she turns to stare at Hama in horror. "Zuko?"

Hama's smile is delinquent, demonic in the way it stretches her papery skin over brittle eggshell bones. "You must carry on my work. You must kill him."

"No," she breathes. "I can't, you can't make me, I _won't_ —"

The breath is stolen from her like everything else, suddenly and without mercy as she feels her own lungs paralyzed without their own will. The rest of her limbs are equally frozen, and she falls to her knees, clumsily bracing herself against the ground on numb hands. She struggles to raise her head up to where Hama stands, controlling her body with bloodbending.

She had always wondered what kind of father would bring fire against his own son, ever since Zuko told her the story of how he got his scar. Now, she realizes, Hama is no different, having turned her powers against her own student.

"You will," Hama says. "Do you know why?"

Even if she did, Katara has no means of drawing breath to say so.

"You will, because there is no other way to stop the Fire Nation from winning. You think he won't turn against you? He is no fool. He may not know now that it is his fate, but sooner or later he will realize that he only stands to benefit by returning to his father's side, that it is futile to resist." Hama's voice is remarkably even and conversational, at odds with her actions. "He will take your hard-earned knowledge of waterbending and twist it into the service of those murderers."

"I should have stopped him before he became aware of his powers," she muses, almost nostalgically. "He was just a child, and I had no idea of the monster he would go on to become. I should have killed him then."

"You're… the monster… not him," Katara chokes out with difficulty, feeling as if her own vocal cords cannot combat the bloodbending possessing her body.

"You think so now, Katara, but you will come to see the truth. The pain you feel now is only a fraction of the pain he and his kind deserve to feel."

~~~

**ZUKO**

So it was Hama. He'll never doubt Sokka's instincts again. That is, if they ever again have the chance, which is looking unlikely in the face of Hama's bloodthirsty revenge. Toph and Sokka are busy liberating the prisoners taken by Hama's compulsion, and he and Aang go on to find the waterbender herself. Not surprisingly, she and Katara are in the same clearing where Toph first heard the screams of the villagers underground, an eternity ago now.

"Katara!"

She does not turn to face them at the sound of their approach, and Zuko knows, with sinking dread, that all is not well. Hama comes into view, a crooked smile twisting her face, hands curled around thin air as if holding the strings of invisible puppets, holding Katara down.

"Hama, stop! We know you're behind the kidnappings at the full moon." He will at least give her a chance to live. It's more than many of her fellow waterbenders received. "Give up and come quietly. We won't hurt you."

Aang at his side shoots him a disbelieving look, body poised to strike the first blow, and Hama laughs in earnest madness now.

"How unfortunate, then, that I have no qualms about hurting you."

A skeletal hand delivers his judgment, and he feels his blood run cold, literally.

He cannot move a muscle, can hardly feel the ground beneath him or the air on his skin. Everything is cold, bitterly cold, without reprieve. He cannot draw breath, cannot even move his eyeballs in their sockets, fixed straight ahead upon the reaper who has his life in her hands.

Time becomes meaningless, suspended as he is in interminable agony. He does not know how much time has elapsed, seconds, hours, ages. His vision is the first sense to leave him, her image burned into the dark void into which he plunges. Fast on its heels flees his hearing, the screams of the others fading out abruptly. His mind begins to flag, the mere prospect of summoning thought bringing to him a deathly weariness.

_Let me rest…I'm tired of fighting…_

The world does not seem to exist anymore, therefore there is nothing left for him to save. He can surely rest now, give in to that lethargy that fills every part of him.

"Zuko!"

There is a lovely voice ringing out amid the deafening silence, like a bell on a glass-smooth sea, echoing for miles, but right now he cannot think of who Zuko is, nor who might be calling for him.

Who cares? There are places beyond this silence and people he has not seen in a long time that he wants to go to. It is better, easier to forget.

"Zuko!"

The chill settles deeper in his bones, encroaching like frost on a dying field of grass, but he cannot leave here without hearing that voice again. He wants to know who it is calling.

 _Remember who you are,_ his mother whispers as she turns away to a place he cannot follow.

He needs to keep on living, because he is _the Avatar._

~~~ 

**AANG**

He calls Zuko's name, voice suffused with desperation and fear, and to his surprise, it works. Disbelief floods Hama's face as slowly, Zuko straightens up and rises from the bloodbending chokehold she has him in, his eyes glowing with the power of the Avatar State. But something's wrong: he doesn’t seem at all present in the moment. He stands, lax and unpoised, staring straight ahead as if he's battling demons only in his head, not out here in the sallow, moon-drenched forest where Hama is still at large, and the bloodbender seizes her chance.

Moonlight glances off a sliver of ice, shining bright as a blade as it leaves Hama's hand—

.

— _no—_

.

—and stops an inch from Zuko's heart.

He looks around, then realizes that he has the power to do so now: Hama is no longer holding him back. Instead, Katara is the one with arms outstretched, steady on her feet but for her eyes, trembling with tears for what Hama has forced her to do.

The ice dagger drops, the moment shatters. He hears Toph and Sokka thundering through the woods towards them even as Katara drags Hama to her knees, eyes closed and face turned away as if she cannot bear to see her teacher reduced to this. He watches the light fade from Zuko's eyes and feels his slight weight slump into his arms, utterly spent.

"Zuko?"

Zuko whispers something quietly against his shoulder before he gives out and sinks to the ground. Aang follows him down, keeping a strong hold around him. "What is it?” 

Nothing is alright here and now, and Aang knows it is futile to ask. The taste of iron floods his mouth from where he bit his tongue struggling against Hama's bonds. The skin under his fingertips is freezing, and Aang runs his hands soothingly over Zuko's arms, his muscles too cold to shiver on their own and bring themselves to life once more. A long susurrus of exhalation against his neck, muffled tears behind him, the murmur of bystanders, tongues wagging and heads shaking, but he cannot be bothered now to care what they are saying. The moon above, the same one that brought them here, looks on impassively.

"Even the moon has a dark side," Zuko whispers, the words taking all the energy he has left.

Ah. "And one is all," Aang answers, stroking the back of his head in calming circles. "It's okay. That's how it's meant to be."

~~~

**AZULA**

"I'm not feeling well tonight. Go away, all of you, and don’t disturb me until morning. I don’t care if the sky is falling down, you can deal with it on your own." She dismisses her servants, who are all too happy to leave in a hurry, except Xiao Li, who's always been too observant for her own good.

"Oh, Princess, what beautiful flowers you've found!" she exclaims, noticing a few sprigs of pink and purple flowers lying on Azula's desk. "Would you like me to put them in water for you? They'll last longer that way."

Azula waves her away with an irritated frown. "Didn’t you hear me? Leave me, now."

Xiao Li drops the flowers and curtsies. "Yes, Princess."

After the door shuts hastily behind the trailing red silk of her robe, Azula rises from her dresser and considers the flowers. Beside them, unremarked upon by dear Xiao Li, stands an opaque green glass bottle, its contents unlabeled.

She takes the bottle and drinks, then pulls back the covers of her bed and settles in. The tall, white candle standing on the nightstand beside her pillow has eight nails driven into its length at equal intervals, ending a few inches from the base. Azula is not a deep sleeper by nature; normally it takes no more than the murmur of a mourning dove outside the window to wake her. But the candle will burn slowly all night tonight, the hours not daring to disturb her unnatural slumber.

She leans over and pinches the wick between her fingers, bringing the fire into life as naturally as breathing, but this time, it's different. Instead of licks of gold and white, the flame burns in shades of blue, bright and eerie in the darkened room.

Blue fire, cold and unstoppable. Father would be proud. Only a few great firebenders of legend have ever achieved this particular feat, to her knowledge. As she waits for sleep to steal her away, she ponders the decisions that led to this change.

Lightning is the cold-blooded fire, and poison the silent killer. Neither is a weapon of passion. Those who wield them must be in complete control of their emotions and actions, unmoved by self-doubt and fear, unerring in their determination to do what they must.

Perhaps she is more like her mother than she used to think. She wonders how her mother would have acted all those years ago, if Ozai's decision had been hers to make. In the face of Fire Lord Azulon's wrath, would she have elected to quietly sacrifice Azula instead?

She closes her eyes against the thoughts, knowing the answer. Who knows, she may well be finishing the job for Ursa even now.

AAA

She opens her eyes with difficulty, her whole body lethargic and clumsier than would be expected after a normal eight hours' sleep. Her hands are cold and pale as if starved of blood all night. She curls her fingers stiffly and tries to shake the feeling off.

Her mouth is dry as sand, and rolling over slowly, she manages to raise herself to her elbows. Her vision is slightly blurred, and instead of the jug of water she's aiming for, her fingers brush the stem of the bronze candleholder on her night table. She stops short, remembering why she kept a candle lit last night.

The candle stub, its blue flame long since burned out, remains standing in the center of the wide bronze plate, surrounded by eight nails that she did not hear falling.

She lets her hand drop and lowers herself to lie down again, drawing in a shaky breath. She's hardly functional at the moment, she'll have to tell her father that she's ill and can't train today. It doesn’t matter, though, because now she knows that her plan will work. She will be able to ensure his death.

It is a new day, a good day.

~~~

**HARU**

"You sleep like a dead rock. We need to work on that."

He bolts upright from disturbed sleep. Spirits, is he not even allowed to rest anymore?

"Princess Azula." Who else would it be? Who else would have cause to visit him, even if the hour is a bit… tiresome? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Dispense with the formalities, please. Right now it's obvious that you hate me for waking you up," she says, blithely callous. As is the habit with them, she hands him a cup of tea. That, at least, is a blessing. He drinks half of it down in large gulps, its warmth waking him up a little more.

"You look abnormally pleased about something. Is that why you've come to visit me in the middle of the night?"

"Look at what I can do now." She sounds nothing short of overjoyed as she puts down her teacup and stretches out one hand, and the torches set in brackets on the wall burn bright blue.

"That's cute," he says, trying to act unimpressed. "Can you make it rainbow? I could use a spot of color down here; sometimes I think I'm going to forget that colors exist outside of red and drab."

"I don’t think you're appreciating the fact that I'm literally the only person in the world who can do this."

"Hm." He swirls a sip of tea around in his mouth. "Not too convenient, though, for later. Even if we manage to escape from your escort and reach the Earth Kingdom safely, they're going to send more people after us, and all they have to do is look for the lady with crazy blue fire."

"Well, it's not like I can turn it off," Azula says sourly at his lack of appreciation. "I'll just have to… not firebend." 

"You, avoid firebending?" He shakes his head. "Real talk, though: you still haven't told me how I'm supposed to get out of here in the first place. Are you planning on staging a prison break? I don’t have to remind you how it went the last time we tried that."

"No, I'm not." She holds one hand out, beckoning for him to give back his empty teacup, which he does. "Now that you mention it, there is something I need you to do for me." From inside her sleeve, she withdraws a small green bottle whose contents she pours into the cup. "Drink this. It's an hour before dawn. After I leave, lie down and go back to sleep immediately."

She pushes the cup over to him, but he makes no move to pick it up, looking instead to her for an explanation. She offers none.

"Trust me, everything will be alright."

 _Do I have any other alternative?_ He considers. _No, no I don’t._

He picks up the teacup. Inside, it looks like plain water, but he wonders what it actually is. _Does it matter?_

"A toast, then, to your health and longevity." He raises the cup towards her, then drinks it down to the dregs. It has a faint astringent taste, but it's hardly detectable. "I think your taste for melodrama is rubbing off on me."

She makes a sound of slightly miffed amusement and stands. "Sleep well, Haru."

She leaves as suddenly as she came, and it occurs to him that she didn’t say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The White Lotus reveal comes a lot earlier in this story than in canon for a number of reasons:  
> 1) They're already in the Fire Nation, and there's no reason not to go visit Piandao. Plus I like it when Sokka has an Important Job. He's so underrated <3  
> 2) I need something for Sokka, Katara, and Toph to do while Aang is teaching Zuko airbending.  
> 3) Also to hold the adults in their lives accountable, because throughout most of Season 3, I was thinking, wait… are these kids going to defeat the Fire Lord themselves… how…??  
> 4) And also to hold myself accountable. By listing out all the things that have to happen in the future, I will make sure I actually write them somewhere down the road…  
> There's not going to be an eclipse. I think I actually decided on this for good around the time there was an actual eclipse in August 2017, haha. The way I've written the Gaang and their adventures, they just don’t have the resources to gather up a legion of allies and collaborate with the Mechanist and random swampbenders to make the submarines and swim under the Gates of Azulon and charge up the caldera to the palace and omg just thinking about writing all the action sequences makes me nauseous, LOL. 
> 
> So instead, Zuko will continue with waterbending, then airbending in the spring, plus some Avatary stuff, and then the comet arrives at the beginning of summer rather than the end; I don’t think I can stretch this out any longer than I already have. Things come to a head, and then it's all over, and there will be oodles of happy, gushy epilogues. 
> 
> More notes on the chapter are available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/30188655)!


	9. The Dragonbone Catacombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For faith is being sure of what you hope for, and certain of what you do not see. - Hebrews 11:1
> 
> Or, Romeo and Juliet starring Azula and Haru, except no one dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot to include this, a song that really makes me think of Azula and her struggles: [Fire, Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OxkkCmCU0M) by Flyleaf. It's so raw and just like Azula, trying to escape her past, these lines especially: "You're ashamed of what you've done, / Crying 'cause your father's wrong / Trying to be something new, / You'll feel that you had something to prove"

**AZULA**  

"The color of your fire is an auspicious sign, Azula," Ozai observes coldly, though he doesn’t sound sufficiently enthused. "But can you prove to me that you are ready for this mission, and furthermore, that you are worthy of the throne?"

Azula looks up at her father where he sits on his raised dais, the damage from his lightning attack long since repaired. She used to think that the throne made the sovereign. Now she knows that wherever the sovereign sits, is the throne. A wall of intimidating flame does not a Fire Lord make, but merely an illusion of security.

"I will do whatever I must to prove myself to you," she swears through her teeth.

"Your bending has reached its pinnacle, but your mental fortitude must match it pace for pace. The Avatar is not a force to be taken lightly. You must have the strength and clarity of mind to defeat him." The wall of flames before Ozai shimmers a little brighter and higher, as if testing her nerves in the face of his potential wrath. "You cannot allow your emotions to cloud your judgment or tinge your actions with mercy."

"I will not fail you, Father. I am unerringly loyal to you and your teachings." _I'm also running out of time; why aren't they here yet?_

"Hm." Ozai sounds dubious still, but before he can voice his uncertainty, a terrified eunuch stumbles in, quaking at the far end of the throne room.

"Your M-Majesty, sir, the imperial prison guards request your audience, sir. Th-they have important news regarding—"

"Have them wait outside," Ozai interrupts him. "I have matters to discuss with the Princess still."

"Actually, Father, perhaps you should hear what they have to say," Azula suggests. "The imperial guards rarely trouble your ears with unwarranted disasters. If they are here, there must truly be something out of sorts that needs attending to."

He frowns, then nods. "Very well, let them enter."

The court eunuch totters out, summarily giving way to the warden of the imperial prison, a narrow-faced, unsmiling fellow with stringy, shoulder-length hair. Behind him follow two guards, dragging between them an unresisting Ty Lao, her long braid losing unkempt strands as it swings behind her as if it's been pulled at roughly.

So far, so good.

The warden reaches the foot of the throne and bows deeply. "Your Majesty," he greets. He turns and makes an inclination to Azula as well. "Crown Princess."

"What brings you here, Miyano?" 

"Your Majesty, your subject is here to receive punishment as deserved by failure to carry out your imperial orders," the warden intones with the droll formality much more suited to the Fire Lord's courtiers than to a lowly prison guard. "The imperial prison has fallen short of its high standards and necessitates the censure of the Fire Lord."

Behind him, the guards push Ty Lao to kneel before the throne; she bows her neck, forehead to the ground, unable to look up at the piercing flames.

"What have you done to deserve punishment?" Ozai asks, seemingly content to question the man at this sluggish pace. Azula shifts impatiently on her toes, waiting for his next words.

"This morning, our earthbender prisoner was found unresponsive in his cell. There was no evidence of any external injury, and we do not know by what means he expired. This one," he nudges Ty Lao's quivering form with a polished boot, "was on the watch just before he was discovered at dawn, but claims she saw nothing and has no idea what happened."

The flames dampen slightly, as if the Fire Lord wishes to see his subjects more clearly in order to pass down judgment upon them. "You mean to say that under your subordinate's lax watch, your most important charge took his life out of your hands and into his own."

The warden kneels too, chagrined at this cool reiteration of his gross neglect and the resulting grave error. "Your subject was incompetent, sir, and dares not beg for clemency."

"Hmph. What do you think, Azula?" Ozai questions. "What punishment would you deliver?"

Without the fire obscuring his face, she can see how keenly he regards her now, as if eager to watch her lose her composure at the news of Haru's death. He expects her to, she knows, but she will not give him that satisfaction.

Traditionally, the punishment for this is severe. The imperial prison is widely regarded to be unescapable, by means either worldly or spiritual, in Haru's case, casting off one's mortal shell and leaving life behind. For Ty Lao to fail so miserably means the worst punishment. Azula looks down at the girl, awaiting her fate.

"If this were a normal case of neglect by the prison guards, I would order Ty Lao's execution, though it can be argued that she did not commit this error intentionally, thus her family may be spared," she says passionlessly. "The warden and all personnel reporting directly to him should be relieved of their positions and banned from further civil service. To be remiss in fulfilling orders from the throne itself is the ultimate sin."

"You said, _if_ this were a normal case. What do you mean by that?" Her father sounds genuinely curious, though not yet suspicious, which is a relief. She has at least this much of his trust now, after months of slaving to earn it back.

With measured steps, she advances and kneels before the Fire Lord, just as the others are doing, but without the air of one being condemned.

"Father, the earthbender did not kill himself. I did."

A stunned silence fills the hall after her words, even the fire's constant crackle hushed and muted, as if afraid to interject. Ozai, for once, is speechless.

"I killed him, not out of defiance for your imperial orders, but out of loyalty to them. I know that very question has been on your mind lately, Father. You have feared for me when it comes to Haru. You have feared that he might drive a wedge between me and my duty to you and to our nation.

“You asked me to prove myself to you, so with Haru's last cup of tea, I have. Let it be known that nothing can hinder me from obeying your command: not misplaced affection for some lowly earthbender, nor for my traitorous brother."

She places her hands together in the ritual bow and prostrates herself, putting faith in her pretty words to have convinced Ozai thoroughly.

No, there cannot be faith. Faith is being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you cannot see, but Azula needs cold, hard evidence that her father will not reject her for her temerity once again.

The dead air in the hall is rejuvenated as Ozai sighs, a long breath out, not one of exasperation but one of released tension, a tight anticipation that he must have holding inside ever since the warden entered so dramatically. "Rise, Azula."

She does, and before her, the wall of flames dies down completely, her father no longer compelled by the need to push her away with their threat. "Just when I think I have you pinned down, you surprise me with your ways. But that is no fault of yours. You cannot expect to win by being predictable."

 _That much is true,_ she thinks, _though not in a way that will benefit you in the end, dear father._

She inclines her head in agreement, then glances at Ty Lao, still huddled on the ground. "Father, Ty Lao is not completely at fault here. I deceived her by masking my intentions to end her charge’s life. I would ask that you spare her and allow her to resume her duties.”

Ozai nods at her assessment. "Very well. Let it be as the Princess has recommended. Miyano, the rest of the prison staff may remain at their posts as well, but let this serve as a warning for all to remain vigilant. You may take your leave."

They bow, and the warden retreats, the guards following, still shouldering Ty Lao between them. She throws a quick, wide-eyed stare over her shoulder at Azula, bewildered but grateful for her reprieve.

After they leave, she looks to her father again, searching his face for some sign that he is not as pleased as he lets on. She finds none. He really does believe her, because he wants to.

"You have proved your loyalty by removing this thorn that gouges our bond." From her normally frigid father, this is practically a demonstration of affection. "You are ready."

She smiles, an illusion of rosy stained glass hiding deadly steel. "Thank you, Father."

AAA

She catches up to the warden not far outside the court, and at a minute gesture, he shrugs and takes his minions aside to let Azula speak with Ty Lao.

The girl is pale and hoarse with suppressed terror despite not having said a word throughout the entire throne room encounter. "Princess, why?"

 _Why did you kill him? Why did you spare me?_ She knows what Ty Lao really wants to ask, and for the next part of her plan to work, she needs to break out her acting chops. It won't take much pretense, really. Under the guise of comforting the trembling girl, she draws closer and rests one arm around her shoulders, shielding their conversation from the prying warden.

"Do you really think I killed him out of loyalty for my father? Do you really think that is where my heart lies?" Internally, she cringes at the mawkish bull spilling from her lips, but it seems to work on Ty Lao.

"You… he…" she seems unable to articulate anything beyond that through her shock.

"He asked me to end his life in the quickest, most painless way possible. He knew that his fate was to die here, far from home, and he wanted to arrive at it sooner rather than later." Azula allows a sliver of grief to pierce her words, her voice just a little unstable. "I didn’t want to, but I saw how he was suffering, and I couldn’t force him to endure it any longer, even for my sake."

"Oh, Azula…" The name slips out accidentally; Ty Lao doesn’t even seem to notice, too focused on the laughable story woven with melodramatic embellishments before her ears.

"I did it for him. And as for you… how could I let an innocent like you take the blame? Ty Lee would never forgive me."

A hiccupping sob slips from Ty Lao's throat, too overcome with vicarious emotion. "Princess, I'm so sorry. I always thought that you… that you were…"

"Cruel and unfeeling?" Azula supplies.

Ty Lao gulps like a drunken fish through another wave of tears. "But I was so wrong. How can I ever repay you?" 

Miyano looks suspicious that they've dragged this out for so long, so Azula draws close to whisper in her ear. "There is something you can do for me, for Haru. Listen carefully…"

AAA

It's only a little past noon when Azula takes the familiar old passageway down to the Dragonbone Catacombs. As a child, she'd discovered the secret tunnel while playing hide-and-explode with Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee. None of those dolts had ever found her, so the secret remained hers alone. At the time, it had seemed appropriate. The crypts of the Dragonbone Catacombs house the remains of the deceased Fire Lords and are forbidden to all except the Fire Sages and the current sovereign. It was fitting that she, the more suitable heir, would know about it and not Zuko.

Now, it is doubly ironic and perhaps fated for her to come this way, garbed in a long black cloak like a creature of the night, stealing through a mausoleum lined with the bones of her forebears and the dragons they slew. She takes a moment to wonder if human ashes look any different whether they're fresh or several years old.

Might as well be sure. Grandfather Azulon won't mind, will he?

She follows an intricate path of tunnels away from the main crypt, and after some time, the trail begins to wind steeply upward. The air is brighter here, not filled with the dust and rot of decay. At last, she comes out into the open air, where the sun is already beginning its descent to the horizon. The winter solstice has only just passed; night still triumphs over day, and the sun sets early. The undertakers have a scant few hours to go before nightfall. They should be here shortly, if Ty Lao stays true to her word.

The place she's arrived at is poetically termed the Garden of Tranquil Souls, the resting place of the royal family and esteemed royal advisors. Looking around, it is indeed very tranquil, desolate, in fact, with graves tilting sideways and moss covering every face in untended abandon. She wonders when it last had cause to be used. Fire Lord Azulon was laid to rest in the Catacombs (well, not anymore, she smirks, as she hefts his urn under one arm). As banished traitors, Zuko and their mother wouldn’t be here, even if they were actually dead. That leaves only one person in recent years.

A little searching in the less decrepit sections of the cemetery turns up what she expected. There is a marker here for her cousin Lu Ten, though his body itself rests thousands of miles away outside the walls of Ba Sing Se. The corners of her lips turn up in a humorless smile. Perhaps she should have told Zuko about this place so he could come and commemorate the cousin he idolized.

Certainly she would not have paid her respects—Lu Ten never had much to do with her. Was it merely because he was too preoccupied with Zuko or because even at that tender age, he saw something that repulsed him…? She will never know. She felt no grief at his passing, nor at Grandfather Azulon's death, nor at her mother's disappearance.

It was easy to be a monster. Without attachment, without emotion, she ran roughshod over anyone who stood in her way, but now, she is no longer the inhuman spirit her mother once feared. With Zuko, with Haru, even with dear Ty Lao in some measure, her façade is cracking, no matter how she tries to keep it up. She has managed thus far to remain intact before her father, but not for much longer.

Azula hears the rustle of footsteps, slow and labored as if bearing a heavy weight, and she readies herself. She gives the undertakers time to lay out Haru's body on a cremation bier designated for that very purpose. More than once, the sight of them arranging piles of fir boughs and twigs around him makes her a little queasy, and she silently rebukes her stomach. She has to act quickly and confidently, without any room for doubt.

An alien prisoner doesn’t get much in the way of funeral rites. The last bough is stacked, a prayer or two said, and the torch drops.

Cloak drawn tight about her, mask in hand: it is time to be the monster once again.

~~~

**HARU**

He opens his eyes groggily to a ceiling that does not belong in his prison cell. He knows its features all too well, having been confined there for almost two months. This is… creepy. The room he's in is very dimly lit, the scant couple of torches on the wall only serving to highlight the darkness beyond. Something white catches his eye, and he recoils at the sight of a huge, bony skull grinning at him from the recess of the far wall. 

He feels just about ready to die, oddly enough; there's a terrible stiffness in his joints, and he's sure if he tried to speak right now, all that would come out is a dry rasp. With weak, noodle-like muscles, he raises his body to sit halfway slouched. His vision is blurry, but a slightly less dark-hued shape nearby starts moving, and he chances a guess.

"Azula?" His voice is every bit as broken as he thought it would be.

"Who else?"

He blinks effortfully, and slowly, some of his clarity begins to return. Azula sits against the opposite wall of the low, rounded room that they're in, which is inexplicably filled with more giant skulls. Someone's interior designer needs to be fired.

The air down here is thin, cold, and dusty, like an underground tunnel. Definitely somewhere people don’t venture regularly, if at all—not surprisingly, what with the gruesome skulls everywhere. Some kind of mausoleum? He looks back at Azula for answers. It's hard to tell in the lighting from two blue-flamed torches set in the wall behind her, but she looks paler than normal and unusually still.

"Where are we? Are you okay?"

"Why are you asking _me_ if I'm okay? Look at yourself."

"Well, I don’t need to ask myself if I'm okay, because I'm clearly not. How… how did we get here, wherever this is, anyways?"

She seems reluctant to reveal whatever genius plan she had up her sleeve all this time. "We're in the Dragonbone Catacombs, the tomb of the Fire Lords." As if this explains everything.

"Oh." He prompts her with his silence, but she says nothing. "Are you reserving a spot for yourself?"

That gets half an unconvincing laugh. "The Catacombs also contain the history of the Fire Nation, indelible knowledge passed down from ruler to ruler, including the origin of the myth of the Kemurikage."

"The who?"

"The Kemurikage, vengeful spirits of women whose children were abducted and sacrificed to cruel war lords in the primitive Fire Islands. These days, they’re mainly used as a bedtime story to frighten naughty children, but Mai used to take that story very seriously, as did the undertakers who were about to cremate you."

"Okay, okay, back up. You know I'm not normally this dull, but what do _they_ have to do with anything?"

She rolls her eyes at him bumbling along slow-mindedly but indulges him. "I impersonated one in order to frighten everyone off and prevent you from burning to a crisp." She reaches beside her and lifts a mask to her face. Its halves are dark and light, with mysterious cloud-like patterns adorning it. "Paired with a funeral shroud and the general air of doom and gloom in the graveyard, it worked like a charm. The undertakers fled screaming. Then I dragged your body off the pyre—you're ridiculously heavy for someone who's been malnourished for months, by the way—and scattered the ashes of my grandfather instead, so they wouldn't think it strange if they came back and your body was gone."

"Your grandfather's ashes??" is all Haru manages to take away from this.

"I didn’t have many options to choose from," she says dourly. "It was his or Sozin's, they're all contained in this crypt."

 _Not. The point._ "Oh, spirits." He tilts his head back against the wall in weariness. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet you believed in me even until the very end," she points out.

 _That, I did._ He thinks back to those last moments in his cell before everything faded to black, wondering what he'd just signed himself up for. "So, what did you put in my tea?"

She turns to pour a drink of water from a tall brass jug next to her. "Finally, he makes the connection. I suppose I can't fault you for that. I know how it feels, waking up like this with mush for brains."

She makes to pass him the cup of water, but the hand that reaches out to receive it is shaking hard enough to register a minor quake. She sighs heavily and inches closer to him, close enough for him to see the pinched crease of her eyebrows and narrowed eyes as she frowns at his glacial state.

"Here." Surprisingly carefully, she lifts the cup to his mouth to let him drink. The water is refreshing and cool, giving him a burst of energy enough to prop himself more steadily up against the wall and survey Azula more closely. "You never learn, do you? Why would you accept another drink from me after the first one left you like this?"

He tries to crack a reassuring grin, but his face in general feels too numb to know what expression he's actually making. Azula doesn’t react accordingly, so he probably failed. "If you wanted to kill me, I would be dead right now. So, what was it?"

"A poison that makes it look as if you're dead, plus the antidote. The poison slowed your heartbeat and breathing, preventing you from waking, so the guards thought you were dead. I pled my case with the Fire Lord, and like an idiot, he believed me when I said I killed you so that there would be nothing standing between me and my undying loyalty to him."

"Sounds like him."

"You don’t even know him," she rebukes gently. "Don’t go making assumptions; he's not normally so lovey-dovey."

"He's fucked my life up so much that I feel like I know him far too intimately."

"Goodness, if I'd known the poison would make you crude, I'd have eased up a little on the dosage," she teases. "Anyways… after that, I pulled some strings with Ty Lao, your guard, to get you buried in the Garden of Tranquil Souls, a more… shall we say, private venue than the usual prisoner's graveyard. I think she thought it was romantic. Now my father thinks I've killed you, and he's given me permission to embark on my hunt for the Avatar without further delay. I made sure to stage the plan a few days after testing the poison, so I'd regain my strength for the journey." 

He has to admire her nerve, stealing her grandfather's ashes and lying outright to her father, even if neither of them are saints. "Wait. You tested the poison…?"

"On myself," she says, a little surly at having to clarify. "What?"

"You tested the poison on yourself," he repeats faintly. So those few days of Azula's absence, before she showed up in the wee hours of the morning and demanded he drink a very suspicious cup of tea… were actually spent recuperating from a poison that could very well have killed her.

"I had to make sure it worked, and who else was I going to test it on? The palace staff? My father?" She laughs, a joyless sound that echoes off the rounded walls, its hollowness magnified. "If it were so easy to poison him, we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble of fleeing the city."

"I don’t know, just… anyone but yourself would do. If you had died…" He trails off, unable to imagine that outcome. 

"Your ticket to freedom would have gone up in flames with me," she finishes coldly. "I suppose I can understand why you'd be aggrieved."

"No!" He has to make this clear with her. "Well, not _no,_ but it's not just that. If you would have died without telling me first…” He shakes his head, unwilling to imagine that outcome. “I might never have known what had happened to you. Would they have bothered to tell me, or just lead me off to the chopping block and be done with it? To die like that, without ever knowing your fate… I could not bear that," he says frankly, too weary to put up any barriers with Azula right now. She may scoff at his sentimentality, but they are a team now, albeit an oddly matched, woefully unbalanced one. And they need to trust each other with everything.

Azula's face is expressionless, and he mentally chastises himself for that outburst. Clearly, they'll never reach that level of emotional openness, and he'll just have to live with it.

But then she closes her eyes, sucks in a shuddering breath that threatens to break, and of course he can't be allowed to see her that way. She shuffles around to face away from him, hunched back over her knees defensively. It's almost amusing, how she thinks she needs to hide her weakness, or it would be if it weren't so futile. He has seen her at her worst, and she has seen him at his. Why, then, this separation?

"Azula, I think you need a hug,” he decides.

"Do not," she says contrarily, the sound muffled in her lap. That's a good sign; at least she's not ignoring him.

"Fine then, I know you firebenders are such stoics. Maybe _I_ need a hug, have you ever thought about that?" He holds out his arms hopefully; she glares at him over one shoulder as if he's suggested she eat a cockroach.

"No? Well then, take a moment now to think about it. It wouldn't do if your stupidly overemotional earthbender had a meltdown because he didn't get his daily dose of hugs, yeah?" He keeps his arms up, though she shows no sign of relenting.

"I suppose I'd have to make do. Maybe your brother would be more amenable? Or who knows, maybe—"

"Spirits, just shut up," she finally snaps and squirms back around on her knees to hug him.

It's a terrible hug, all things told. Haru discovers that he has way too much leg in the way and no energy to move them. Azula is clinging to him with the least possible contact between them, essentially only her arms encircling his neck, while most pointedly looking away.

None of that matters, though. All that matters is that for the first time in weeks, they are close enough to do this. And for the first time ever, they actually are. They'll work on the finer details, but this is a good start.

Azula murmurs something he doesn’t catch. "What's that?"

"I said, you stink."

… of all the things to say while hugging. "Not a lot of opportunity for baths in prison. Anyways, have you considered that maybe I don’t actually stink; it's just that you're too fragrant by comparison?"

A loaded pause. "That was weird, wasn't it?"

"That was the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I had Zuko for a brother.”

“Speaking of your brother, what exactly are you going to do when we find him?”

She shifts forward in his arms more snugly so that she can rest her chin on his shoulder, stink notwithstanding. _Already making progress._ "You should know, I don’t care about liberating the Earth Kingdom and saving the four nations and all that," she says without remorse. "I only want to bring my father down. For everything he’s done to me and to Zuko—I want him dead. Not that it matters, but most of the world probably agrees.”

"Okay." That's an acceptable goal, Haru thinks. He doesn’t expect her to be a shining beacon of hope and redemption for this rotting world; that's on the Avatar.

"I'm sure my brother will have other thoughts on the matter, but I don’t care what he thinks. I need his help to defeat our father, and he needs mine.”

“And after that?”

She signals the end of the hug with the slightest shrug of her shoulders, and he lets her go willingly. If this is what she needs, to let that façade of stone crumble every now and then, he will gladly tear it down and build it up again for her as often as necessary.

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

It sounds like the beginning of a promise, a cornerstone for the foundations of their hereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes about the chapter: [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/31467552).


	10. The Painted Lady Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka just wants to find some nice pearls—is that too much to ask?

**TOPH**

"Alright, let's see what we've got!"

Sokka dumps his uninspiring catch of river goop, more river goop, some more river goop—oh look, an actual fish! — and some more river goop out of his net. The fish flops feebly around on the ground, straining its gills in a last gulp of waterless air, then expires sadly at his feet. It wouldn’t suffice for more than a couple mouthfuls.

"Uh, Sokka, I don’t think you're going to catch much of anything in this river," Aang says, squirming at the fish's dying struggles. "Everything you've pulled up the last two times was either mud or dead already."

"Nonsense! You know what they say: if at first you don’t succeed…"

"Try a different river, maybe?" Toph suggests wryly.

"But it has to be this river! Master Piandao told me so: Jang Hui River is famed for its freshwater oysters, the most prolific in the world. People would come from all over just for their huge, luminous pearls. Anyways, I've _got_ to get one for Katara; that'll cheer her right up." He sends a significant glance over to the grassy hill beyond the riverbank, where Katara and Zuko are sitting several feet apart against the wall of Appa's belly without much appetite for words.

"Right, because a shiny rock from the heart of an oyster will make her forget everything that's happened the past few days."

"No, of course not! But at least it might take her mind off things for a bit, right? Girls like pretty things, case in point." He lifts Toph's arm to display the smooth band of space earth resting around her upper arm. "Besides, it's poetic."

Toph yanks her arm back from him. "How is it poetic?"

"Beauty from adversity," Aang says, his eyes brightening a little at the connection. "A grain of sand works its way into the oyster's shell, forcing it to build up walls of mineral around it to protect itself. Over the years, the mineral layers grow large enough to become a pearl."

"Thank you, Aang, that was very nicely put."

"That just sounds like a poor innocent creature, much like myself, trying to defend itself from an irritating speck. Beauty from being annoyed to death, perhaps," Toph says, ever long-suffering.

"You can pooh-pooh all you like, Toph, just wait until I actually find one." Sokka puts his net down and sighs. "There's nothing for it. I'll just have to go in myself."

Aang gazes disbelievingly after him as he wades into the river. Even in the shallows that reach no higher than his knees, the water is already murky with cloudy precipitate.

"That's disgusting," Toph declares, verbalizing what Aang hadn't wanted to say. "But since he wants to roll around in the muck, let's let him. We can ask the people in the village where to dive to find the best pearls. Otherwise Sokka will spend all of next week trawling the river bottom fruitlessly. Katara!" she calls. "Time for a field trip!"

TTT

_"I'm not good with words. I wish I knew what to say to her," Sokka says as Katara leaves the circle of their campfire early to go to sleep. Zuko and Aang are already off on their own, inseparable since the confrontation with Hama the night before. That incident had left an indelible mark on all of them, but Zuko and Katara most of all, having explicitly trusted the waterbending master of the Southern Water Tribe, only for her to turn on them so wildly._

_"What was all that time you spent wordsmithing with Master Piandao instead of sword fighting for?" Toph asks._

_"That doesn’t help, though, because the heart isn't rational. I could say to her, 'It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything to change Hama, she was already gone down that dark path.' But Katara, being Katara, would still feel like she should have noticed something, done or said something to Hama before things got that extreme. She'd still feel like she could have saved her master somehow. Just like she thinks she could have saved our mother from being killed, years ago. And now…"_

_"Hama's done for," Toph says shortly. She'd made sure of it herself, as Zuko and Katara were in no state to wrap up the fiasco of Hama's scheme. The old master was led away in chains to the very prison she'd once used to sequester and torture innocents with bloodbending. Bereft of water in any form, she would be harmless. "Katara needs something else to focus on, someplace else where she can make a difference."_

_They brood over it for as long as it takes for the ground beneath Toph's feet to grow cool as the campfire extinguishes itself. Finally, Sokka raises his head and smiles. "I've got just the place in mind."_

_~~~_

"Piandao said what now?" Zuko asks, frowning at Aang. Katara and Toph have just set off for the village, leaving Aang to recount Sokka's outlandish plan for a massive pearl bounty.

"He told Sokka that Jang Hui has the best oyster beds and divers in the world."

"That's weird. It might have been that way long ago, but even when I was a child, that factory was already here, polluting the river and its oyster yield," Zuko recalls. "Piandao would know better than to send Sokka on a wild-goose chase here."

"I'm pretty sure it's Sokka sending himself on a wild-oyster chase," Aang says drily. "He's even recruited Toph to help him find the best spots, so he can get a pearl for Katara."

"For Katara? Why?"

"I seem to recall that people like it when they get nice gifts," Aang says with an impish smile, drawing closer to his adorable beloved, tracing a line down the side of his face with one finger to rest at his mouth. The skin beneath his finger flushes gently as it passes.

"I do know something about that," Zuko agrees. He puckers his lips slightly to press a light kiss against the tip of Aang's finger. Just then, Sokka drags himself back to camp, dripping river slime everywhere.

"Oh, stop that, you're giving me the oogies," he exclaims, dramatically shielding his eyes from their display.

"…what are oogies?"

"Oogies, you know! General ickiness and gross stuff, ugh, no, not for me." He shakes his head emphatically.

"You're the prime example of oogies," Aang shoots back, the epitome of maturity. "Seeing as you seem to have brought half the river up with you—did you find any pearls to make it worth it?"

"Don't start," Sokka holds up a finger to stop him. "I tried my hardest, and that’s what counts."

Aang laughs as Sokka stomps away to try and clean himself off, while Zuko considers what his old master could possibly have meant by overselling the sad state of Jang Hui's pearl economy.

TTT

Toph clings tightly to Katara's arm as they make their way through the narrow docks and bridges of Jang Hui. It really speaks to her newfound friendship and trust in Sokka that she'd agreed to let him bring them to a village _on stilts in the middle of the river_. It's a dismal place, with the thatching falling off rooftops, children sitting quietly in doorways instead of playing, the water below an ever-present reminder of the doom that has settled over them all. Katara looks over the river at the source: the factory a mile upstream that spews its waste directly into the water, flooding everything downstream with toxins and foul pollutants.

"Pearls? Don’t make Old Xu laugh! That's the funniest thing I've heard since my brother Dock lost a tooth biting into one of the last pearls we found here ten years ago."

"…didn’t you say your name was Dock?" Katara asks suspiciously. He did, after all, introduce himself as such when rowing them in from the shore.

The wild-eyed shopkeeper laughs a little hysterically. "No, no, he’s my brother! He works on the docks, that’s why they call him Dock. I'm Xu; see, we've got different hats!"

"Okay…"

"So, there aren't any pearls at all in the river?" Toph tries to bring the conversation back on track.

"We don’t even have enough oysters for food, let alone shiny pearls. There's still some fish in the river, but the Fire Nation soldiers get the best pickings of our fishermen's catch, and we get the mangy remains." He gestures at the trays on display in his shop, filled with slim, unhealthy-looking fish and clams.

"The water's toxic from the factory's runoff. But what else have we got to drink? Boiling it only does so much. There's no way to survive like this," he laments. "If only the Painted Lady would return to the river and save us all."

"The who?"

"Oh, the Painted Lady, my brother Bushi can tell you all about her!" Right on cue, Xu ducks behind the counter to switch his hat and reemerges as Bushi, expert historian on the local lore of the Painted Lady spirit. According to his very enthusiastic storytelling, she was once a human with deep spiritual understanding who ascended to the spirit world as the river's protector hundreds of years ago. "She was the best thing to ever happen to this place, and now she's gone forever," Bushi sobs historically, foisting a miniature statuette of the Painted Lady on Katara.

She takes the statuette with some confusion. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she says, her mood now even more downcast than before. _Well, it's got to get worse before it gets better,_ Toph reasons.

"I wish we could help them," Katara says wistfully as they walk away. "The river was their way of life, and now it's all but destroyed."

"Well, don’t look at me," Toph says, raising her hands in surrender. “I can't do anything standing in midair like this without any earth to ground me. Personally, I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Hm." Katara casts a thoughtful glance back at the village. "I suppose you're right. There's not much we can do. I guess it's best if we move on."

~~~

**ZUKO**

"There's a slight problem," Aang reports as they prepare to leave the next morning. "Appa's acting really sick. Like, really, really sick. I've never seen him like this before."

Appa is indeed looking out of sorts, lolling his tongue out and shaking his head in a besotted sort of way, as if unseen flies are tormenting him. He's standing a little slanted, seemingly unsure of how to distribute his ten tons of weight.

"Oh, _no._ Can he fly like this? He looks really ill!" Katara echoes worriedly, hurrying to the bison's side. Appa tilts drunkenly towards her.

"I'm not sure," Aang says. "Maybe I'll try… Appa, yip-yip!"

The ground rumbles beneath them as Appa lifts off for a brief second, then comes crashing back down, uncoordinated, after a height of only about five feet.

"Yeah, I think that's a no," Sokka remarks. "He looks intoxicated; maybe he ate something poisonous?" He sounds much less concerned than warranted. "Katara, Zuko, do you think you can heal him?"

Zuko looks at Katara, who's steadfastly avoiding his eyes. "We can try, but neither of us know much about bison anatomy, so I'm not sure how much we can do. He seems to be shaking his head a lot, so maybe he's got a migraine?"

The two of them each take one side of Appa's head, and Zuko mimics Katara's moves, bringing water up to moisten the poor bison's presumably inflamed nerves, but to no avail. Appa bats them aside, grunting unhappily before finally collapsing to his knees and lying still.

"I don’t think that helped," Sokka says, quite unnecessary.

"I'm sorry, Aang," Katara says. "Maybe he did eat something that's causing this, but I don’t know what it could be. He doesn’t look like he's in danger, though. He'll probably eliminate whatever it is in a couple days, and then he'll be okay to fly, I think."

"It's alright, Katara." Aang looks over at Zuko, who's still standing by Appa's head, frowning at him in concentrated thought. "Zuko, what's up? What's wrong?"

He looks up. "It's nothing. I guess we'll just have to stay for a while longer and see what happens."

"Right, then it's back to pearl diving for me!" Sokka exclaims in excitement. "I'm not letting this second chance get away from me!"

"Oh boy," Toph sighs. Zuko looks over at her, too; she hasn't given any indication that she's noticed anything amiss, but that might not mean anything either. Well, at least now he has time to ponder this mystery.

ZZZ

Since Sokka is single-mindedly occupied with his wild pearl chase, Zuko and Katara take the time to practice waterbending over the next few days. She teaches him to walk on water, and indeed to run over it, skate on its turbid surface, revel in it and the freedom it confers from land. They tend not to linger too long in the murky river, though; that’s more Sokka’s purview. When they practice waterbending, Katara takes river water and bends it through a piece of muslin cloth. The fine mesh traps coarser particles of silt and rot, and after boiling the remainder, it’s almost clear enough to see through.

Much of what they do actually consists of inventing, combining, and refining new forms. Zuko finds that waterbending is much more fluid than his native art, allowing every offense to be seamlessly translated into a defensive maneuver and then a counterattack. There are the basics of pushing and pulling the water, changing its phase, and such, but beyond that, they roam free as their imaginations permit.

"Guys, guess what we heard in the village today!" Aang says excitedly as he and Toph return to camp, where Katara and Zuko are settling in for the evening. Sokka is nowhere to be seen, likely still drawing in his nets in the shallow stretches of the river and grumbling about his lack of returns.

"You figured out the mystery of Dock and Xu and Bushi?" Katara ventures.

"No, actually. Dock's like that because of poisoning from the river water; some of the other villagers told me," Toph says more dourly. "It made him go insane. Before, he was just Dock, no random other brothers."

They all absorb that grimly as Appa snuffles in the background, the reality of the village's plight too large for words. "Well, what we heard today was that last night, the Painted Lady returned to Jang Hui and healed many of their sick," Aang says in a bracing attempt at restoring the mood.

"Interestingly, this is the first time she's appeared throughout the entirety of the village's struggles. I wonder where she's been or why she chose now specifically to appear." Toph sits down next to Zuko and pokes him vigorously in the side. "Hey, Mr. Great Bridge, maybe you should ask her what's up with that, huh?"

"You know, I really would like to meet the Painted Lady and find out more about how she uses her spirit-y magic to heal people," Zuko says, squirming away from her. "I wonder if it's anything like waterbending. What do you think, Katara?"

"I don’t know," Katara says from behind a stiff poker face. "I'd have to meet her to be sure. Speculating without all the facts won't tell us much." She ducks back to attend to the boiling pot of water for soup, decisively removing herself from the conversation. Zuko favors the back of her head with a knowing glance. Everyone has secrets, but some, they are entitled to keep.

~~~

**AANG**

More news trickles in the next day of the Painted Lady's heroic efforts to save the people of Jang Hui, though none of the villagers mention speaking to the spirit herself. She seems to just descend upon the village, bringing food and supplies and magical spirit healing powers to bless them, and departs in silence, as spirits do. After visiting with Dock/Xu/Bushi as is now his habit, Aang tracks down Zuko and Katara lying head to head, flat on their backs atop the highest cliff in the region. He stares down at them sternly.

"I thought you were supposed to be training, not watching clouds go by?"

"We did train, all morning, but it's a lovely afternoon for cloud watching. And rest is part of training too; we can't all be bouncing off the ground with energy all the time." From the sound of it, Zuko is accusing someone else of said bounciness. Aang thinks he hears a hint of Zuko as a child, precocious backtalk tolerated by his first, overindulgent firebending teacher.

"Scoot over, Aang; your head's blocking that elephant koi cloud," Katara says, clearly picking up Zuko's bad influence.

"…no respect for your elders," Aang makes sure to mutter audibly while moving out of her line of sight. He lies down next to Zuko. “Well, enlighten me.”

"That one's a sea serpent." Zuko points to a long, spiraling wisp of cloud that does indeed appear to be a particularly sickly sea serpent. Maybe an earthworm? "And there's a platypus bear, see its funny beak? And that there is a seahorse, and there's a rabbiroo…"

Aang finds himself watching Zuko's hands rather than the clouds as they indicate the shapes in the sky. Eventually, he decides that Zuko only needs one hand to point them out, so he steals the other one for himself, and Zuko hardly even blinks or pauses for breath, reflexively wrapping his fingers around Aang's as he continues to explain how this cloud looks more like a manta ray than a bat-goose.

"That's its neck, not its tail," Katara argues; she's clearly in the bat-goose camp. "You're looking at it upside down. Don’t you think so, Aang?"

Aang has long since lost track of the pros and cons of the argument in favor of tracing the ridges and valleys of Zuko's knuckles. "I don’t have a strong opinion about it," he says honestly. "But I know something I bet the two of you didn’t know: clouds are made of water."

They both pause to absorb this information.

"…that's wonderful," Katara says, her voice straining to sound enthusiastic and chipper instead of politely incredulous. Zuko doesn’t bother, letting his other hand drop down to muffle his laughter.

"What did you think they were made of?" Zuko asks once he's done disrespecting his elder yet again. "Cotton candy?"

"No, although I did taste them to make sure. Anyways, my point is, since clouds are made of water, you could try bending them."

"That's a great idea, Aang," Zuko says, dead serious. "Then I'll be able to bend that cloud into a better-looking manta ray, and Katara will have to admit defeat."

"Not if I bend it into a definitive bat-goose first."

"It's already gone," Aang points out. The clouds are transient, unlike the buoyant joy he feels upon seeing Zuko's eyes crinkle with delight, the grave lines and furrows of late slowly washing away. "That's okay, though; cloud watching is overrated anyways. I mean, why would I watch clouds when I could spend my time watching the sunlight cast your eyes in different shades of gold?"

Another pause, which Aang doesn’t realize is significant until Katara sits up. "Well, um… I'll just leave you two here to… watch whatever you want, and I'll go try out some cloudbending by myself, sound good?"

She doesn’t wait for an answer, swiftly rising and making her departure.

"…you're blushing again," Aang notices belatedly. "Oh spirits, I said that bit out loud, didn’t I?

  
"Best if you don’t say anything at all, really." Zuko enforces this by leaning over and kissing him, soft and then with more ardor, arms wrapping around his back, his entire world within their span. Aang lets their legs tangle together, leveraging himself to roll them over and on top of Zuko, the two of them as close as the sun is to the sky. 

They have places to be, an ancient guru to meet, a world to redeem, but for now, Aang wills time to slow, prays that the clouds in the sky will slacken their steps for a moment or longer and let him, let them enjoy this bliss that they have had too little time for since meeting. He doesn’t know why they are here in this place without hope, unless that is the very reason. Zuko gives him hope, and likewise the people of Jang Hui—there is hope for them as well.

~~~

**ZUKO**

“Going somewhere?"

She stops short in the process of donning her wide-brimmed, veiled hat. Her form is already shrouded in a long purple cloak, and if she turns around, he will see the vibrant red paint adorning her face, the same patterns on the face of the Painted Lady figurine from Jang Hui.

“Zuko,” she sighs, steadfastly facing away.

“It’s funny; every night, I’ve tried to summon the Painted Lady to this river, but it turns out she was right in front of me all this time. And I'm guessing Appa's 'sickness' is your doing too?”

"He's not sick, unless you count the vertigo induced by having water pumped through his ears every night." Katara has the heart to sound a little remorseful at the measures she's taken to prevent their timely departure from Jang Hui.

"I see. Aang will be thrilled to hear about that."

“I have to do this, Zuko,” she says, still resolute in not looking at him, as if this will absolve her of her deceptions. “These people need me. I’ve brought them the food and medicine they need; I’ve healed their sick; but that will only relieve their suffering for a time. I have to eliminate its cause: the factory.”

“I know you do, and I won’t stop you. In fact, if you’ll have me… I’d like to help.”

She turns then, and they see each other clearly under the waning moon, she in the garb of the river spirit, and he in Aang’s long black cloak, the Blue Spirit mask clutched under one arm: the Painted Lady’s distant cousin, perhaps.

Surprise registers on her face, shock and then delight. “You mean it? You’ll help me?”

“Great Bridge, remember? Of course I'll help you."

She smiles brightly, the red marks dazzling across her cheeks. “The Painted Lady and the Blue Spirit together, then. We’ll be unstoppable.”

And so, they are.

ZZZ

The factory at this hour is silent as the grave, and they enter without hindrance. The place is rife with heavy-duty pipes, and huge vats of ore and water dangle overhead. The dark walls of metal gleam faintly in the fires still lit from the workday, giving everything a haunting glow. It’s so vast and stalwart, Zuko can hardly imagine where to begin.

Katara doesn’t hesitate, though. “Let’s start by freezing the water in those pipes.” She points to a few of the largest ones, spanning the entire width of the place. “They’ll burst under the pressure eventually; we just need to give it some time.”

“Got it.” He follows her lead. Next, they tackle the dangling pulleys carrying tons of ore, rapidly snapping their chains in blocks of icy vengeance. They come crashing down with enough force to wake the nearby village, probably, and Zuko guesses it won’t be long before they’re discovered.

“Let the river reclaim its own.” He looks to where Katara’s pointing, the wide windows high above through which sunlight would pour were it daytime. But it is night, and water heeds the call of the moon. Together, they pull in a torrent, shattering the glass, cascading over their heads like a waterfall, filling the floor below them and sweeping away the machinery and refining apparatus occupying the entire lower level.

The roar of falling water is devastatingly triumphant in their ears; above them, pipes burst like firecrackers in glorious accolade, spilling their contents onto the already turbulent deluge. Foam brews and metal crashes like a symphony of destruction, and for a passing moment, Zuko thinks of one other time he watched a flood swarming down from the heights to eradicate everything below.

No, this is nothing like what Jet did. He didn’t have a care for harming civilians as collateral damage, just like Hama. Zuko can empathize with the pain and trauma that drove them to what they became, but there is nothing that can excuse their actions, all the same.

The factory is in pieces below them, machines tumbled from their places and driftwood floating like corpses in pools of water left behind by the flood. They flee the premises as the roof itself begins to cave in under the pressure of the river's force coming down on it. Katara darts ahead of him, landing on the surface of the river as if it were solid ground, bending the water to bear her weight as she speeds back across towards the village.

Wait… "Katara, where are you going? Our camp's the other way."

She points in the direction of the village, and he hears the sound of motorboats and soldier's cries. "The soldiers stationed nearby have probably heard the explosion. They don’t know it was us, so they'll target the village instead." She turns to face him, fierce with the fury of losing too many innocent lives senselessly. "We can't just stay behind and watch, like spirits uninvolved in the lives of humans. I'm going to help. Are you with me?"

He smiles, though she likely cannot see it under the waning moon, far out from any manmade light sources. This is Katara as her potential truly allows her to be: not the wandering, lost traveler he first met running from pirates, but a warrior with ice for nerves but not for a heart.

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/32745420)! I found Sokka doing a lot of interesting things in this chapter that I did not expect :)


	11. The Painted Lady Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We come full circle, and Katara has a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have a bizarre predilection for 11 chapters... my first ever multichapter fic (which was for Death Note xD) was 11 chapters, and so was _time crawls on_ , now this one too. It's such a weird number; I don't know why they all just happened to be this many chapters.

**SOKKA**

Sokka likes his beauty sleep just as well as any guy, but tonight, there are more important things than a solid eight hours on his mind. If everything goes according to plan, no one will be getting more than three hours tonight, but it will be worth it.

Katara makes her exit about two hours after they collectively retire for the night. Zuko extricates himself from Aang ( _oogies,_ Sokka thinks on principle, but okay, he admits they’re rather cute) and follows her not five minutes later. Their destination: the factory.

The young moon is still high in the sky, which is just about to turn that liminal mother-of-pearl shade that precedes dawn, when he hears the signal to battle. The factory is now a moldering wreck lining the river, and the Fire Nation soldiers garrisoned nearby will be looking for someone to blame.

He wakes Toph and Aang. “It’s go time, sleepyheads.”

“Time to go where?” Aang asks, bewildered. Sokka hadn’t briefed him on the plan because he would hate having to keep secrets from Zuko.

“Katara and Zuko just destroyed the factory: they’re going to need backup when the Fire Department gets there!”

“Couldn’t you have planned this to take place during the day?” Toph complains groggily, getting up nonetheless.

“Waterbenders rise with the moon, remember? Anyways, it’s more dramatic at night.”

“Right, because that’s our priority: a dramatic backdrop.”

SSS

Appa’s still not over whatever bug Katara bit him with, so they make do with Aang’s glider, which Sokka immediately regrets as they soar over stomach-dropping heights with the river below. They touch down on one of the small islands protruding from the middle of the river. In the distance, a fleet of about twelve motorboats races towards them, headed for the village.

“Toph, don’t think, just wreak havoc when and where I tell you to!” The first of the motorboats is barreling towards them, and he aligns himself with Toph’s line of fire. “Twenty degrees north-northwest, forty feet out!”

She reacts immediately, hauling the metal keel of the hapless motorboat belly up from afar and depositing its two occupants in the water. “Awesome! Coming up, two cruisers straight ahead, thirty and thirty-five feet, thirty degrees west—”

“Just point me in the right direction, I don’t have time to do math right now!”

He grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around until she’s facing the two motorboats that almost got away—too late for them.

The others have noticed their offense, and the ones within hailing distance of the shore begin to return fire. He instinctively goes to shield Toph and get out of range, but Aang beats him to it. Propelling himself aloft, his glider spins faster like a whirlpool and redirects the incoming fire with relentless blasts of air, adding to the Fire Department’s confusion. _Excellent, that’s just what we need: to cripple their morale before they arrive on the scene_ , Sokka thinks. _Let them know loud and clear that they_ don’t _have the upper hand here._

They take out six motorboats in this fashion, though four more get by, until one last straggler comes along. “Let’s hitch a ride on this one!”

“Got it!”

Two seconds and a multitude of bruises later, he wishes he had been more specific.

“If you meant _‘bring the cruiser to land so I can daintily step in,’_ you should have said so,” Toph says testily after catapulting herself and Sokka into the motorboat from the shore, bodily displacing its occupants.

“Guys, let’s focus.” Aang follows on his glider. Straight ahead lies the village, whose residents are gathered on the largest dock, fearfully staring down the Fire Department and their leader, a towering man with vibrant sideburns and a cruelly stitched scar that runs through one eyebrow.

He speaks, his voice a loathsome drawl that makes it evident what he thinks of the cowering townspeople before him. “I thought we could live as neighbors, in peace. But I guess I was wrong. You steal our food, our medicine ... and then you destroy our factory.”

“Uh, actually, that was the Painted Lady.” It’s Dock (or Xu? Sokka’s forgotten who wears which hat). “She did it for us, and she’s going to run you all out of this river!”

“No.” The man sneers down at him, disdainful. “You’re the ones who will be eradicated from this world, and there is no Painted Lady coming to save you.”

“Are you sure she isn’t here?” Sokka calls as they draw near to the dock. They must make a strange picture, one gliding and two on a hijacked motorboat, but to the man’s credit, he gives no sign of being surprised. They disembark; Sokka does a quick scan of the assembled villagers, and yep, there’s a tall figure inconspicuously cloaked in black at the edge of the crowd.

“And what would a lot of ragtag foreigners know of the whereabouts of a long-gone spirit?” he sneers.

“Oh, I don’t know, but I know someone who knows,” Sokka says jauntily. “Hey Zuko! Can you summon the Painted Lady here for us?”

The figure in black sighs, _not this again_ evident in his demeanor, and throws off his hood to reveal—

“The Avatar!” At last, Mr. Overcompensating Sideburns looks shocked, and then like a cat with free reign of a koi pond. “It’s my lucky day.”

Zuko steps forward, and the villagers look at him in amazement, too overwhelmed by a second celebrity visitation. “General, we don’t have to come to blows,” he says grimly. “Leave this village alone, and the Painted Lady will spare you. If you choose not to, then you must be prepared to accept defeat.”

“Hmph.” He turns to his lackeys, who are rethinking their decision to serve under him. “Are you going to listen to this traitor, or are you going to do what’s right and bring this place down?”

The battle is over for them, but they at least make an effort, directing their fire at Zuko and into the crowd, only to be pushed back with a long stream of water that broadens into a wall between them and the villagers. On the dock, Aang itches to leap into the fray as well, but Sokka tugs him back.

“Wait, wait, it’s getting exciting now. Look!”

The air begins to change, a palpable tension streaming through it, and the soldiers gaze around uneasily for its source. Sokka smiles as mist forms rapidly, rolling along the surface of the river and filling the whole canyon, masking everything in an impenetrable fog. He was right about the dramatics, though Aang should get the credit for suggesting cloudbending.

“What’s happening?” one soldier wonders. “Maybe it really is her.”

“Stand your ground!” their leader barks, even as the fog parts slowly to make way for the Painted Lady.

~~~

**KATARA**

The first flash of fire on the docks far away is her signal, and as she steps onto the river, she lets the water start to mist and rise, freeing it from its liquid form and covering the surface in fog. She takes her time gliding across the water, knowing that Zuko has the situation under control, and by the sound of it, Sokka and the rest as well.

She looms into view, towering high above the dock on a water spout even as several fire blasts greet her, their flames falling far short. With the spout still revolving under her feet, she directs several branches of water out from its stem to snake their way around the remaining soldiers, encircling them in tight rings of water that keep them from firebending. They hardly struggle against their bonds, paralyzed with fright. Their morale is lower than she expected, and for a moment, she wonders how the Fire Nation is even winning the war presently. With one decisive stroke of her right hand, she pushes their watery prisons right off the dock, knocking them into the water with ease, save for one person. Their leader remains, having evaded her trap, and he stands defiantly in front of the crowd, uncowed.

The face of her mother’s executioner swims to mind, his cruel, twisted expression as he struck her down, and under the lightening dawn sky, she can see the one before her now clearly. It is no different from all those years ago. To her, the face does not matter; the soul is the same, ashen-gray with malice and spite. She raises her hands in judgment, staring down at him just like that monster looked down on her mother before striking the final blow. She wants to want this, but she cannot.

“Leave this place and never come back,” she intones with as much spiritual authority as she can.

To her dismay, he is not remotely phased by her threat. “Nice try, but you’re not the real deal.” He laughs mockingly. “Unless the Painted Lady has a colonial accent and listens to the beck and call of a half-baked Avatar. You fools,” he addresses the villagers, “you can put your faith in a so-called spirit who throws her lot in with traitors and filthy peasants, but I won’t stand for it.”

Fuming internally, Katara watches as he takes a stance and traces the air with two fingers, grounded and deliberate in spite of the tension that starts to fill the air. Puzzled, she brings up a second ring of water to hover around her arms in preparation to retaliate if necessary, but in the span of just a few seconds, it becomes clear to her.

The energy crackling between his fingertips is lightning, fueled by the cold fury in his eyes. The sky seems to darken against its dazzling glow, and with damning finality, he directs the lightning straight towards her.

.

.

she throws up her arms, everything falls silent

.

.

water won’t save you here, if anything, water will kill you

.

.

it’s too bright it’s too bright _too bright—_

.

.

And then it fades, and she is still whole, the spout collapsing from under her trembling body, dumping her unkindly in the water where she treads, almost too tired to stay afloat. She thinks she must be hallucinating because even as she looks up towards the dock, she sees the silhouette of a woman hovering in midair just above her, just where the lightning would have struck. Then that, too, fades, and she can hear again, an overwhelming babble of everything flooding into her ears.

A smug thump of bone on bone. “Sokka: 1; Overcompensating Sideburns: 0. I knew I could trust you, boomerang!”

“Katara?!” It’s Zuko, leaning over the edge of the dock. She takes his hand and struggles onto the dock, feeling much more tired than the ordeal warranted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “What… what happened?”

“What happened,” Sokka loves telling stories, after all, “is that Mr. Sideburns here tried to shoot lightning at you, but he missed—excellent dodging skills, by the way—and then I knocked him out with my boomerang.”

“But it was so… bright?” She looks at Zuko. “I saw someone, in that moment.”

“I think that was the real Painted Lady,” he says quietly.

“What? I didn’t see her,” Sokka says. “Did you see her, Toph?”

“… _no._ ”

“Oh, right. Did you see her, Aang?”

He frowns, looking conflicted. “I… I don’t know what I saw.”

“Not to interrupt here, but someone has to say it,” Dock interjects. “…I don’t know how to put this politely, but she’s _not_ the Painted Lady.” He points at Katara.

The village behind them murmurs in varying degrees of outrage; indeed, she is not their beloved Painted Lady. She is a wandering stranger, a waterbender who had the audacity to impersonate their guardian spirit, the _nerve—_

“Uh, just to clarify some things real quick.” Sokka lets silence descend before continuing, with the air of a prosecutor going to town. “Are you all alive and well?”

“Well, yes—”

“And is the factory polluting the river completely destroyed?”

“Well, yes—"

“And are those Fire Nation soldiers ever going to come back to this village?”

“…no? But—”

“Then everything’s fine!” Sokka’s voice brooks no argument. Katara sighs and straightens her back, gently pushing her belligerent brother aside to address the people.

“People of Jang Hui: I’m sorry that I deceived you all. You may revile me for my differences, but at the end of the day, what I want and what she wanted are the same: to help and to heal. It doesn’t matter who the real Painted Lady is. Your problems are real, and this river is real. You can't wait around for someone to help you. You have to help yourself.”

“You know, that’s true! And I can help by giving these poor soldiers a ride out of here.” Dock offers a hand to one of the soldiers groaning and clambering out of the water, utterly uninterested in anything related to terrorizing poor villagers. “At a competitive price, of course! Dock claims the fairest fares, that’s why it’s called ‘fare!’”

Katara frowns. Something’s not right here. “Dock, aren’t you supposed to be Bushi right now?”

One hand flies to his head, which is indeed wearing Bushi’s straw hat and not Dock’s bright red one. “Well, will you look at that? My brother and I switched hats by accident! How embarrassing!”

They’ve seen stranger things, she reflects. And they will see stranger things yet.

*******

After a long day of laboriously washing the river of its toxins, all Katara wants to do is sleep, but for some reason, the river calls her in, promising secrets that have yet to be divulged to her. She takes the long steep trail down from their camp to the near shore, a few lights still burning in the village across the river to guide her steps, but she stops a few feet away from where the water kisses the land.

A lone figure crouches at the water's edge, peering into the shallows, and of course it would be Zuko at this time of night. He's never been one for daylight conversations or mundane things like sleep.

"If you're looking to drown yourself, try putting your face in instead of just staring." Perhaps dark humor will always be the buffer between their uneasy equilibrium. Bitter grief and acidic hatred were all they represented to each other initially, but now…

"You know, I've _nearly_ drowned three times in my life. The first time, I was a child playing at the beach, and my father saved me." He can't see her eyebrows raised in surprise, but he can intuit it. "Don’t look like that, he did have some morals. The second time, Aang saved me. The third time, you saved me. If I had a death wish, I wouldn’t waste my time crying out to the merciless seas."

He finally rises from the riverside to walk towards her, and there's something about the stiff formality in his gait and the hard edge of determination in his jawline that clues her in to a conversation between them that is long overdue.

"Back when we first met, I promised you two things. One, that I would you find a waterbending teacher, though that didn’t turn out quite as well as I would have hoped."

"Still counts," she says lightly, though her insides churn at the thought of owing her expertise to Hama's tutelage.

"And two, that I would find the man who killed your mother, so that you could have your revenge." He looks at her, a question, not quite a challenge, in his eyes. She finds herself quite unable to answer and lowers her eyes.

"Do you still want to find him and bring him to justice?"

Even if she could clear the fog that suddenly clouds her mind at Zuko's question and twist her tongue into a coherent answer, she doesn’t get the chance. Out on the river, a faint glow approaches, and Katara gasps as it coalesces into a familiar figure. She stops short of the shore, the spirit aura around her obscuring her feet which hover well above the surface, an unearthly being. Like the statues made in her image, she wears a broad hat with a veil, her form draped in a long white shroud. She is fair and haunting, the red stripes down her face and arms like wheals from the caustic river water.

"Painted Lady Spirit," Zuko greets her awkwardly. "Er…do you have a…a human name?"

"Once.” Her voice is deep and full of quiet murmurs like the river she inhabits. “But I have long forgotten it."

"You forgot your own name?"

"I was here when the moon faded from the sky and reappeared, a young, new spirit. One day she will forget too. We all do, but names are worth forgetting, as long as we remember what we stand for."

"But you didn’t," Zuko counters, looking up into the halo of her presence. "You left this place; you forgot its people."

"Zuko…" Katara bristles, unwilling to hear this slander. "Would you stay here either if you were a spirit and humans so willfully destroyed their natural surroundings?"

He frowns, still stubborn and unyielding. It is the Painted Lady who shakes her head, smiling benevolently but without mirth. "That is not why I left."

"But…the river was so polluted, you couldn’t have stayed," Katara protests.

"I am a spirit, child; no water, however toxic, can harm my form. What drove me away was the energy surrounding Jang Hui."

At their confused looks, she continues. "The spirit world and the human world overlap closely here. That is why my spirit was able to leave my body behind and persist in this form. But the realm of spirits is most different from that of humans. In the spirit world, your emotions become your reality. Here in this village, where human emotions predominate, I was able to remain for many years of peace and tranquility until upheaval arrived.

"The desecration of the river plunged the people's lives into blackness, and their emotions threatened to overcome me. So much negativity, so much pain and despair—you have experienced these things as humans, but you cannot know how much your emotions become magnified into spiritual energy. If I had acted upon the emotional currents stirring me up, the village might not have lived to see today, but instead been washed downstream in a furious flood. I did the only thing I could do: I hid myself in the farthest reaches of the spirit world, away from this place, and I struggled to encase my emotions in ice."

"That generally doesn’t work; I've tried," Zuko says. 

"No, it does not. But do you know why I returned, in the end?"

"You got bored of hiding and decided to come back to play?" he guesses. "My sister always used to do that."

"The two of you gave Jang Hui hope. You gave the people a reason to believe that their lives can change for the better, and you washed away the fear and ennui that would poison any spirit within miles of the village on the water."

"You saved them, and you saved me."

"Thank you."

***

“Hey sis.”

She looks up as Sokka walks over to sit beside her, setting down a bag of something that rattles hollowly. “What’s up, Sokka?” He takes out his knife. “What’s in the bag?”

He shoots her a toothy smile and reaches inside to remove—

“Oysters?” she says dubiously. “We’ve only just finished purging the river this afternoon. Any shellfish you collect will still be stunted. I don’t think you’ll find any pearls.”

“No, I actually got these from the beach on the other side of the main island. I mean, we came all the way here just for this and stayed so long; it wouldn’t be worth it if we walked away empty-handed.”

He splits one open to reveal only the pale flesh of the oyster; no pearl.

“It’s alright, Sokka.” So that’s where he disappeared off to while the rest of them cleaned up the river. She considers chastising him, but… he’s still her brother, always the pessimist except oddly in this rare flight of fancy. She can let him have this. “The real value in this trip was getting to help these villagers and changing their minds about the Avatar and the other nations. You’re lucky that somehow your fanciful side trip turned into a serendipitously worthwhile life lesson.”

He snorts. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.” He cracks open another shell; the same result. “To be honest with you, this is what I intended all along.”

“What?”

He nods smugly. “When Master Piandao mentioned the village of Jang Hui to me in my studies, what he actually told me was that their historical pearl harvest had dwindled to nil in the past decade because of the pollution. I knew we wouldn’t find anything. Instead, I brought us here precisely because I knew you needed the break after everything that happened with Hama.”

His expression is more somber now. “You were hurting, from the guilt of losing Hama, plus the pain of her betrayal, and I hated to see you like that. I knew you’d never admit it, though. You needed the time to recuperate; training with Zuko, healing the people, clearing out the soldiers, saving the village from its path to decay—it did you more good than I could have hoped for. That’s why I didn’t say anything when you made Appa ‘sick.’”

“You knew?” she says disbelievingly.

“Why are you surprised? You should have accepted by now that your big brother knows everything.”

She snorts, unsurprised in the least by his purported arrogance. There’s a pile of cracked oysters in his lap now. _You’d better be planning on eating all of them instead of letting them go to waste,_ she thinks mildly.

“Seriously, though, are you okay?” He meets her eyes levelly, full of concern and sympathy. “You’ve always wanted to learn waterbending from a true master. I worried that Hama would have put you off it.”

Oh, Sokka. He really does have a heart after all. “I’m not one to hold grudges. Hama’s actions won’t influence my decisions and my future.”

“You haven’t always been this mellow,” he says, half teasing, half curious. “I distinctly remember you used to hate the very shadow of a firebender. I always wondered what would happen if you ever met the man who killed our mother.”

She greets with this with silence, remembering how she had felt when Hama asked her to think of a firebender who deserved the punishment of bloodbending, when Zuko asked her the same thing. In that moment, she hadn't given it a second thought.

“You know, after Master Piandao figured out I was Water Tribe, he pieced together some things that might be of interest to you,” Sokka says casually.

“Oh? Do tell.” Katara can’t help but feel curious about this enigmatic master who seems to know everything.

“Mm. He has some ex-Fire Navy colleagues who recognized the symbol of the soldiers who attacked our village: the sea ravens, symbol of the Southern Raiders. Their leader was a man named Yon Rha, who retired four years ago. With Piandao’s information, it wouldn’t be difficult to track him down.”

She considers this quietly, with less spite and vitriol than she thought she still had.

“Zuko asked me about that too,” she says thoughtfully. “And I can truthfully say that I don’t want to kill that man anymore. I’ve seen what revenge can do to a person. It's nothing but murder badly disguised as justice. The only thing I would accomplish by seeking revenge would be killing one man, and what good does that do me? Killing Yon Rha doesn’t change the fact that Mom’s dead. I want _her_ alive; I really don’t care about him either way.”

"Aw, look at my little sister, so grown up and mature now," he says, partly out of reflex to dodge the serious moment.

Katara presses on, undeterred by his teasing. “Besides, who’s to say I’m not just as much to blame for Mom’s death? Yon Rha killed her because he thought she was the last waterbenders. She lied; it was me.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded, mindlessly continuing to crack his oysters open, and his knife slices into the last one, clean through its shell and into the palm of his unprotected hand. A blossom of blood stains his palm as he gapes, still unable to process her words.

“You can’t seriously think that…” He shakes his head mutely, totally oblivious to his self-inflicted gash.

“Sokka, your hand.” She reaches out for him, bending a swift stream of water to swirl around it. “I never told you because… I was afraid you might blame me, however irrational that sounds. For being selfish, for surviving.”

He sweeps her into a hug, uninjured hand cradling the back of her head, wishing this heartfelt touch could heal her of years of solitude, a task far more difficult than the simple knitting of split skin back together. “You have to know: I’d _never_ blame you for something like that."

“I know. I know…”

“Neither would Dad, or Gran-Gran, or anyone. It's thanks to you that our people will be able to survive at all. You know I didn’t want to leave the South Pole at first, but when you insisted… I had to follow. I will never turn my back on you, Katara."

She stifles a lump of tears in her throat.

"And now, with the Avatar on our side, we won't have to live in constant fear of attack. Things are changing for us. Things are looking up."

"You're unrecognizable now, you know? Master Piandao really did a number on you. You're always such a pessimist." She pulls away from him, smiling slightly despite her red eyes.

He rolls his eyes at the truth in her words. "Would a pessimist bother to crack open this many oyster shells on the off chance that one of them will have a tiny pearl worth salvaging?"

“True.”

~~~

**ZUKO**

_"I don’t want to kill him anymore. My mother's murderer," Katara says. There is no waver in her words, no lack of confidence at all. "Hurting him just because he hurt me, killing him just because he killed someone I loved… that would accomplish nothing. I would only become like him: making the world a darker place just because I have the power."_

_She's clearly given considerable thought to the matter. Even if Zuko knew who the man was, this information would no longer interest her. It's her choice, and he will support it._

_It is only when she asks him this question, that he wonders what his choice will be, and who will support it, whatever it is:_

_"What are you going to do when you face your father?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear god, it's the end, finally! I'm so grateful to you all for reading <3 I always say this, but your comments make me super happy. I'm one of those compulsive email-checkers, and usually it's full of boring stuff like school assignments, announcements, blahh, but then a ray of light in the form of an email from AO3!! <3 omg anyways. enough gushing now. But seriously, whether you just caught up to this story or have been around for ages, I love hearing from you, and I will never stop loving hearing from you. 
> 
> Here's a short summary just to recap the series chronology, and to give you a peek at the future :0
> 
> 1\. _save some face_ : Zuko and Azula's childhood until the former's banishment.  
> 2\. _time crawls on_ : Zuko earthbending, Azula trying to earthbend.  
> 3\. _too cold to shiver_ : Zuko waterbending, Azula trying to escape her abusive father.  
> 4\. _brave enough to die_ : Going back in time to the war and Lu Ten (~3 years)  
> 5\. _blood in the breeze_ : Zuko airbending, Azula trying to find Zuko, Lu Ten returns.
> 
> Originally I wasn't going to reintroduce Lu Ten until the very end, but now I want to bring him back to the main plot earlier because 1) readers seem to like him a lot (incidentally I do too), 2) then it won't be as random as if he had just turned up in the very end, like what was he doing all this time?? and 3) it's just more convenient for all the plot lines to be in one place. 
> 
> I guess you don't really have to read _brave enough to die_ before _blood in the breeze_. It's really long (80k+, why do I do this to myself), though I know you all read fast. If you love Lu Ten/want to read what happens to him, you should definitely give it a try :) It's a commitment of sorts, but I think you'll like it: a heartfelt tale of growing pains, unshakable loyalty, and tragic love on the battlefield. Guaranteed heartbreak, but eventual happy ending.
> 
> If you choose to skip it (which is fine!), _blood in the breeze_ will include a condensed summary of what went on with Lu Ten in the war, just before he reenters the plot. You just may lose a little of the context of some things that happened, though there should be sufficient detail/explanation within the content of the story itself. 
> 
> The chapter notes about spirits and stuff are [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019827/chapters/32786058): I actually really enjoyed planning this chapter :D

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the-cloud-whisperer on Tumblr if you ever want to come talk to me =)


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